<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>These Strings of Fate by Xena1016</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550922">These Strings of Fate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xena1016/pseuds/Xena1016'>Xena1016</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fate's Unwoven [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, World War I</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xena1016/pseuds/Xena1016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and Schofield are on what may be the most important mission of their lives- but when they make an unexpected discovery their mission and an evergrowing number of lives are put in great jeopardy. </p>
<p>Now separated and injured the heroes must endeavor to keep their lives, as they struggle to complete their mission in time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joseph Blake &amp; Tom Blake, Tom Blake &amp; William Schofield, Tom Blake &amp; William Schofield &amp; Original Female Character(s), Tom Blake/Original Female Character(s), William Schofield &amp; Original Female Character(s), William Schofield/William Schofield's Wife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fate's Unwoven [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>See translations of German by hovering your cursor over the dialog!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>If there was any one horror Sister Milby never expected to face in her time as a nurse. It would be being left stranded behind enemy lines. . . alone. </p><p>Gale creeps long the bank of the channel. She is pressing herself against the damp wall to make herself small. It forces her to wriggle around fallen debris as she makes her way back to the collapsed bridge.</p><p>There is nowhere else for her to go… She can take no other course of action but to try to catch up to Blake and... damn her fractured mind! Blake and…</p><p>She pauses in the shadow of a fallen crane, her body sinking to the ground as a frustrated sob escapes her lips. But she forces the next gasp to still by covering her mouth with one hand. She takes one deep breath, then another–her eyes slip closed, and she feels a rush- as the fog rushes to cloud her whole being. It feels... welcoming, like a gentle push…</p><p> </p><p>To sleep.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gale wrenches her eyes open, and she blinks rapidly, the fog in her mind slowly retreating. Blearily, she looks around her for a moment, forgetting what she was trying to do.</p><p>It's not the first time the nurse was left exhausted. There have been many occasions: after long hours working in pressing stations, surrounded by screaming and dying men when nothing but prior experience and discipline pushed her forward on days when sleep pulled at her with every blink. And Gale had to remind herself that she'd done all those things with sound body and mind.</p><p>But then there is the fear of capture that fuels her, as the Germans were unlikely to give her mercy, and there was no chance of rescue.</p><p>Captain Smith and his men are gone- she heard the wounded crying and screaming beyond the bank, their frantic shouts fading in the distance as sporadic gunfire chased after them.</p><p>Unbidden, she finds herself looking back at Peaslee's lifeless form. The few items of his that she took are heavy in her pockets, and her heartache as his last words echo in her ears.</p><p>Another small sob escapes her, and the nurse covers her eyes. The tears burn terribly, and the world tilts threateningly. It chases her grief away with fright.</p><p>She cannot become spastic now, not here. If she falls the channel, she will drown- if Gale stays too long, they will capture her: She cannot be caught again–never again.</p><p>Gale gasps and forces herself from the wall, slowly: she must push forward, she must avoid the Germans. She must find the Tommie's.</p><p> </p><p>She must.</p><p> </p><p>There is a stinging pain in her cut arm, blood seeping through her bandages, but now new scrapes decorated her hand. It makes balancing on the wall difficult and painful. Her left leg is terribly lame- and she wonders when she injured it.</p><p>The thought makes her think back- as far back as she can–and she settles on the image of a sloping green hill, grey walls and fallen, flowering trees.</p><p>A frustrated hiss leaves her- there had to be more than that- she wasn't born yesterday! There had to be more.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A city, buildings, fires. . . footfalls in a steady rhythm, she watches from the second story of an old shop, an army of men–marching, marching, marching. Lighting flashes and thunder roars, but there is no rain- trembling earth, screaming- so much screaming-blood.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The memory makes her headache- and not wanting to return to the drumming pain she had before, Gale releases the thought, letting it float back into the fog. She allows herself to stop for a moment more as she breathes slowly, needing to focus.</p><p>It was too dangerous for her mind to be wondering.</p><p>The bridge is within her sight; there is no more gunfire. She almost feels safe enough to-</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Ich hatte nicht erwarter, dass sie so bald komen wurden. </span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Gale bites down on her lip to stop from gasping- she pushes herself against the channel's wall and goes still- her breath ceasing and her heart thundering in her ears.</p><p>The footfalls of several men reach her ears, and there is the sound of something being dragged and weakened groaning. Gale sinks to the ground as quietly as she can manage, both hands covering her mouth as the noise gets louder and louder.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Verdammt Tommies, der wie immer eilt.</span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>A pained groan rises from the chatter- the men talking lower their tones and spend some time offering words of comfort to an injured comrade.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Sollen wir zurück gehen?</span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Es is tzu weit.</span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>There are at least three of them; they've come to a stop almost atop Gale. A whimper trapped in her mouth, and her lungs start to burn from holding her breath too long.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Das Gasthaus dann.</span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>The soldiers have no idea she's there- and Gale can do nothing but hope it stays that way. There is some shuffling, and the injured man barks out a strained shout, and the footsteps resume.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Bleib dran, Otto, wir reparieren dich.</span> </em>”</p><p> </p><p>The soldiers move on. Their footfalls fading into the distance until the area around the channel is cast into silence again.</p><p> </p><p>Gale sits there, stock-still for a long time after they are gone- straining her ears to determine if they stopped again or had left. </p><p>Then something inside her–shifts, and all the pressure in her lungs release in a long whine. She squeezes her cheeks until it hurts to keep the noise down. She sucks in a deep, rattling breath, and the noise is too much- the nurse clenches her jaw until her teeth ache. It takes several attempts for her to calm enough for her to try to move. Her entire body is trembling, and she feels like she's going to be sick. She leans heavily against the damp wall of the channel and slowly starts to move forward.</p><p>The fear slowly morphs into a terrible numbness, and Gale welcomes it like an old friend. Because this horrible icy feeling? She can work with- she's been made familiar with it over in the passing months.</p><p>Progress is slow; she often pauses, to rest, to listen for more Germans, or signs of the Tommie's, and the last few yards to the bridge seem never-ending.</p><p> </p><p>When she reaches the place, she last saw the Tommie's: no one is there.</p><p> </p><p>And the whole town is locked in eerie silence. Gale swallows her trepidation, investigating a set of stairs that will take her out of the channel. She pauses, spotting several white lashes in the concrete.</p><p>Her stomach drops- and fresh fear stabs at her heart; she leans against the wall to settle her breathing as horrid possibilities fill her mind. She looks frantically for absolution and finds blood staining the concrete at the base of the stairs.</p><p>Gale feels her heart stop- then start again. The only consolation being that the one the blood belonged to was not here. Whoever it was, got to their feet and moved off, leaving a dotted trail behind.</p><p>The nurse follows the trail of dark splotches as they spattered on the stairs and out of sight.</p><p>Gale steels herself and crawls up the stairs, peeking her head over the ledge, she scans the surrounding area from ground level.</p><p>From what she can see- the square looks desolate, and she couldn't hear anything. But she didn't trust her sight or hearing to be truthful. </p><p>Her eyes fixated on the sparse trail of red on the ground. She swallows harshly, a little voice making her wonder how the Tommie's do these things day in and day out. As she moved to stand, a small wave of nausea pushes her back down—a reminder to the poor woman that she was in no condition for all this action.</p><p>Not that she had any choice in the matter, she couldn't just sit here on the stairs and hope for someone to swoop in and rescue her.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn't possibly get that lucky twice.</p><p> </p><p>Gale lets out a frustrated huff and forces her eyes open again. Gritting her teeth, she stands to her full height, her mind reeling in silent prayer all the while. Her body shakes in fright, and she stands there, dazed.</p><p>No gunfire comes to cut her down, and when she realizes this. Gale forces herself to wobble up the last of the stairs and into the open fully. With no wall to lean into, Gale wavers as if drunk. Her pain is almost numbed, but she still can't get her body to move the way she wants. She fixes all her attention on the trail of blood, her eyes darting from one dot to the next. The spatter forms a path diagonally to the first building across the square. And her world shrinks to nothing but this sight as she forces one foot in front of the other.</p><p>She is soon falling into the shadow of a building; it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. Gale almost walks headlong into the doorframe before stopping and looking up from the ground. There is a foyer- with a door leading further back, and a stairwell climbing up to another story. Gale pauses, her eyes flickering up as she moves to the center of the room. She sees no one, and her gaze trails the stairs going down. Her heart jumps again when she spots a discarded Brodie helmet, sitting on the first flight landing.</p><p>There is a gash in the metal where a bullet struck the helm, but the lead did not lash through its steel, and Gale thinks that wouldn't be a fatal blow.</p><p>"Blake?" she whispers before she can stop herself.</p><p>She hears a sudden shuffle, something's moving above her, and Gale cowers back. But no one comes bounding to the stairs, so she pushes forward. Heart thundering loud enough to deafen her. She pauses at the landing. Next to the helmet was another pool of blood. Large and spilling over the stairs.</p><p>Swallowing hard, Gale forces herself up the stairs. Her mind is invaded by a fog of fear and unanswered questions. She could hardly begin to wonder what might meet her when she reaches the top.</p><p>She pulls herself onto the second landing and startles, going still as a statue when her eyes find a German soldier with a gun pointed in her direction. It takes several harsh beats of her heart before she realizes that the man is already dead.</p><p>Ripping her head away, she turns, only to startle a second time: Blake is staring back at her, his gun wavering in his hands. He gapes at Gale; the rifles falling to one side, and she sees how pale he's become. There is a long pause as he takes her in- disbelieving, overwhelmed.</p><p>The man struggles for words before his head falls to his lap, chin striking his chest and his helmet's rim, hiding his face. The motion draws Gale's attention downwards, where she finally sees Blake's friend lying sprawled out on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Blake is crying.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Scho...Scho won't w-wake up." </p>
<p>Blake grits his teeth, saying the words <em>hurt, </em>and he could hardly make a sound past the tightness in his throat. </p>
<p>Gale moves, wavering on her feet as she stumbles to him. But Blake can't even be bothered to wonder how and why she's here. Gale is a nurse; she can <em>help</em>. </p>
<p>He watches the nurse as she kneels and looks at Schofield. She gently turns his head to the side with shaking arms and pulls Blake's handkerchief away from his head. </p>
<p>The fresh pulse of blood that greets them is like a physical blow, and Blake can't stop the whimper that escapes him as Gale quickly returns pressure to the injury.</p>
<p>He watches her expression <em>change;</em> her lips draw into a thin line while small creases form between her brows. </p>
<p>Blake feels his heart wither. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"He's still alive," she announces- Blake rips his eyes from Schofield: <em>of course, he's still alive</em>! </p>
<p>"The best we can do is clean him up and let him rest."</p>
<p>Blake nods again, setting his jaw to stop the next sob. Gale moves carefully, drawing his attention as she searches her pockets. </p>
<p>She produces soiled packets of gauze, a small black tin, a red envelope, and something that makes her stiff. </p>
<p>She regards the object held in her palm- a grief-stricken look washing over her face before she shoves the item back from where it came, there is a small tinkling noise as it meets other things hidden in the cotton. </p>
<p>He wants to ask what's wrong, but Gale pushes on, replacing Blake's handkerchief with the dampened gauze pad. </p>
<p>All the while, Schofield does not stir, not a single twitch or whimper from pain. His skin has grown pale, and his breathing is weak. </p>
<p>Blake could do nothing but hold him, his frame shaking every time Scho didn't breathe when Blake thought he ought to. </p>
<p>When Gale finished, she puts a hand on Blake's shoulder, gesturing for him to move- so she could take his place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn't want to leave- and for a brief moment, he finds himself pulling closer to Schofield, but he realizes that he's being ridiculous and relents. </p>
<p>Moving with great care, Blake pulls himself away from Schofield and allows Gale to take his place. He lets out a grunt as he stands, hand flying to his thigh. Gale looks at him, eyes growing wide when she finally notices the red that's painted a long stain down his trousers. </p>
<p>"Sit down." She commands, spending a moment to adjust Schofield, so he was resting on his kit. </p>
<p>Blake shakes his head. </p>
<p>"I'm alright." He starts, shakily lifting his hand from the wound, its coated in the cold blood soaking his trousers. "It's hardly bleeding now."</p>
<p>He's met with a steady glare, and Blake finds he doesn't have the strength to quarrel with the nurse again. </p>
<p>He swallows and lowers himself down on the wall.</p>
<p>"What happened?" Gale asks him as she helps to straighten his leg. Blake chokes down a pained yelp and makes an angry gesture to the dead German on the balcony. </p>
<p>Gale looks over for a moment but says nothing, and Blake thinks she understands. </p>
<p>He watches as the woman gingerly looks over the wound in his thigh. She tears at the material of his trousers, leaving a large swath of his leg bare. The pain is enough to make Blake shiver, and he looks for something to distract him. </p>
<p>"Why. . . how are you even here?" Looking now, Blake realizes that she's soaked to the bone and while he notices. The fact that her hair is <em>gone</em> hasn't quite registered yet. "We heard a scuffle down the road, but the sniper... We couldn't see what happened." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gale's stopped rifling around and looked at Blake with something like surprise and remorse. She swallows before ducking her head back down to her task. </p>
<p>"A group of Germans ambushed us past the bend; I believe they shot the driver of our truck…" Gale pauses, as Blake sucks in a gasp. Every muscle in him tenses at the news, and he feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him.  </p>
<p>"About half of us made it out safely, but Peaslee and I were trapped." </p>
<p>His anger weakens, and he feels his chest squeeze as she mentions another. The cut on his cheek thrums with pain as something jumps in his gut. All manner of emotions builds up inside of Blake, but all he can do to alleviate them is to sigh. </p>
<p>He watches the nurse as she pulls another, smaller envelope from the first, she looks up at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A silent exchange passed between them: the question that went unasked, and the answer he already knew. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm sorry." he says finally, "You shouldn't have to go through these things." </p>
<p>"Neither should you." Gale counters, her voice much weaker sounding than before. Blake makes a face at that, then turns away, his attention falling on the dead German soldier. "I don't think anyone should," she adds, having followed his gaze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence floats between them for a long time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake has no counter- he <em>could</em> say all those things about women and their proper places in the world, but he'd bet older, wiser, and far more familiar men have said those things to Gale before, and it failed to stop her.</p>
<p>"Take this," Gale announces suddenly, and Blake flinches when she puts her hand right in front of his mouth. She had some manner of square-shaped <em>thing</em> pinched between her fingers, and Blake can't help but wrinkle his nose at it.</p>
<p>"What is it?" he implores, bringing his hand up to take the item, but Gale pulls away.</p>
<p>"Phenacetine – for the pain." She answers tersely. Blake let her feed the thing to him with only a mildly disgruntled look. "Let it sit on your tongue." She adds, turning to return the envelope from whence it came. </p>
<p>The thing tasted awful. </p>
<p>Gale then starts to loosen and remove Blake's puttees, having some struggle with her numb hands. Blake does nothing as she works, he’s content to lay back, and let the drug takes its course. </p>
<p>Gale pulls his boot off and makes a face at finding his socks wet and foul-smelling. She mumbles something Blake doesn't catch, and he chuckles at the obvious distaste she has when she gingerly pulls the long wool sock free. She comments on it's 'homely qualities' a moment, before giving Blake a look and letting the thing fall to the floor with a small 'plop.' </p>
<p>Blake finds the whole thing rather amusing, and he's almost bubbly with childish laughter when she repeats the same action with his other foot. She upturns his boot, and grey water falls from it. This time she asks just what he got into. </p>
<p>He explains his misadventures from that morning, and he feels like they happened so long ago. Those horrifying moments in No Man's Land, diving into a shell-hole to play dead for passing British planes. </p>
<p>"The same chaps who landed that German on us – the bastards." He concludes with a shrug. None of it was funny, but he can't seem to stop himself from chuckling about it all</p>
<p>"You know, I was telling the boys in the caravan back there," Blake starts, missing Gale as she moves from his feet to his side. "That we'd managed to find the onl- "He stops abruptly when Gale snatches his belt and wrenches the strap from its buckle with one quick jolt.  </p>
<p>"Whoa-wait!" he screeches, trying to crawl up the wall at her sudden action. The moving does his leg no favors, and he collapsed onto the floor with a pained gasp.</p>
<p>Gale makes a <em>noise</em> and pins Blakes leg to the ground with both hands. </p>
<p>"Stop wiggling!" She hisses as fresh blood is wrenched from Blake's wound. Tom stills at her tone, and he thumbs his nose as a whimper rises from him. </p>
<p>He watches as Gale takes in a deep breath to recollect herself. </p>
<p>"Sorry," she starts, her tone shifting into something much gentler and more controlled. She turns her head to look at him directly, a mask of placidity on her face. “That was improper of me: I need to take off your trousers- to clean the wound." </p>
<p>Blake is sure he's turned red from tip to toe, and he gapes like a fish for several long seconds, watching in horror as Gale slowly starts to move to loosen the buttons on his trousers. She spends a moment more watching him before returning her attention to her task. But the moment her hands start to shimmy his pants loose:</p>
<p>"No, you don't!" Blake snaps, his hands flying to grab hers. She snarls and lets out a pained huff wrenching her hands from his. Blake stills again; then his jaw drops in shock as he finally takes notice of the new injury to her hand. "Oh! I'm sorry!" he coughs, leaning forward. </p>
<p>"Enough!" she barks, her shaking getting worse. Blake goes still and slowly slumps back against the wall as Gale spends several minutes more controlling her now ragged breathing. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry." He whimpers, wrapping his arms around himself. He hears Gale sigh.</p>
<p>“No, I’m sorry.” She mumbles, “I’m afraid my nursing skills are lacking at the moment.” She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and tries coaxing him to look at her. But Blake refuses, as he’s too busy trying not to fall to pieces, but he doesn't flinch when he feels her hand on his leg again. </p>
<p>The nurse gives up on the trousers and goes back to cleaning the wound best she can regardless.</p>
<p>She inspects the deep gash, prodded at it, and then shows some disregard to Blake when she wrenches his canteen from its holding on his hip and starts to wash it with small water splashes. </p>
<p>"I don't see an exit wound." She murmurs, bending over his leg to look at the wound now that most of the blood was gone.</p>
<p>"He only grazed me," Blake explains, his voice meek. </p>
<p>Gale hums. </p>
<p>"You've lost a lot of blood." </p>
<p>Blake shrugs, he was bleeding a great deal when it first happened, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare the life out of him. But when Scho took off to take out the sniper, when he didn’t come back… all of the fright was focused on his friend - and even the pain fell away when Blake saw Scho, sprawled upside down on the stairs in a pool of his own- </p>
<p>He sucks in a sudden breath at the bitter memory and looks to his friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn't help. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day's events collapse on him – he hardly notices as Gale starts to rub some manner of ointment over his wound- his distress so great that even pain is distant to him.  </p>
<p>How would he reach the Devon's now? He could hardly walk with his leg and Scho. . . How long could he wait for Scho to wake up? Would he wake up at all? How was he going to get through Ecoust with Germans were infesting the place like rats.</p>
<p>Stragglers making nuisances of themselves <em>indeed</em>!</p>
<p>Blake huffs, his hands flying up to cover his face. He tries to steady his breathing – so close they were so <em>close. </em>The Devons were little over a mile away – but it might as well be a hundred with all that stood in his way. </p>
<p>How would he reach Joe? If he didn't, his brother would surely be – <em>No! - </em>He can't think like that – but what was he going to do? How was he going to do it?</p>
<p>"I should have listened to Scho!" he blurts out suddenly, slapping his hands down and making Gale yelp. "We should have waited until dark. . . none of this would have happened if I'd just-" </p>
<p>"Blake." </p>
<p>Blake blinks, looking to Gale, she's sitting closer now, a hand on his shoulder. She gently cups his face, wiping his tears away with her thumb before and drawing him close. He sobs, pulling his helmet back, leaving it on the floor as he slumped against the woman, his head resting on her shoulder.</p>
<p>"You poor, brave boys." He hears her coo into his hair, and a bitter laugh leaves him as a sob. Is she taking pity on <em>him</em>? </p>
<p>He felt like a small child, crying on his mother's shoulder after a tantrum. And for a few minutes, he lets himself sit there and weep, as Gale gently runs her hand through his curls. She says nothing more throughout his fit, and Blake wishes she'd tell him it would be alright-</p>
<p>He knew it was a lie, but he needed someone to believe he could still make this right.</p>
<p>"I will stay with Schofield," Gale declares, causing Blake to sit up again. She looks at him, tired, but determined, "You can wait until dark and hide from the Germans. . ." </p>
<p>Blake doesn't say anything at first, his eyes going wide – was she telling him to go? He couldn't possibly-</p>
<p>"How far is it to the Devons?" </p>
<p>Blake took a deep breath and brought up his arm, looking at his compass. He turned his head to look at the wall to their backs.</p>
<p>"They should be. . . a little over a mile northeast of here, in Croisilles Wood", Blake explains a more thoughtful look on his face now. "Do you think I - my leg is." </p>
<p>Gale fixes him was a serious look, her lips pulling into a thin line. </p>
<p>"Under normal circumstances. . . absolutely not." She begins turning her attention back to his leg; it was wrapped firmly, and when Blake moves, he felt his leg strain under the bandages. </p>
<p>"But you’re not out here on a leisurely stroll." The nurse continues with something like a sigh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake observes her for a moment, knowing that what she's just done is against her very nature. </p>
<p>After a short pause, his hand flies to the map – he wrenches the thing free and unfolds it over the floor. He crouches with surprising ease and puts a steady hand over the map. </p>
<p>He studies it carefully, periodically, picking his head up to look at something beyond the lock house's walls. His mouth moves with almost silent words as he mutters to himself. There are several hours until dark- once dusk sets in, he can go, use the darkness, he must imprint every street and alley of Ecoust into his mind.</p>
<p>He can finish the mission; he <em>must</em> complete this task. The Devon's are not far; he can stop the attack – save Joe- get help for Schofield and Gale. </p>
<p>He <em>can</em> do this. </p>
<p>A rumble in his stomach gave him pause, and Blake became aware of how <em>tired</em> he's become.</p>
<p>"Oh right. . ." he hisses. He turns back- eyes falling on Schofield for a moment. He shudders and starts rifling through his kit. </p>
<p>"Since we're going to be staying for a while. . ." He pulls a small box from his pack popping it open and removing a small collection of tins and paper-wrapped foods, assembling them all on the floor with a clatter. </p>
<p>"Courtesy of General Erinmore himself." Blake snarks examining the small bounty: packets of tea, salt and sugar, one tin of Bully Beef, one package of Huntley &amp; Palmers Biscuits, and a tin of Ticklers jam.  </p>
<p>Picking up the jam, Blake turns it over in his hands, thinking back to when Erinmore's orderly first presented them with the Iron Rations. He was so excited at the sight of food that he almost missed the way Schofield nearly recoiled from the treats. </p>
<p>Scho must have known this was a death march from the beginning- and he went along anyway. </p>
<p>Blake felt the tightness in his chest again: maybe he should have picked someone else… He shakes the thought away and clears his throat, focusing on the tin's label. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>'SEVIILE ORANGE MARMALADE'</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake <em>laughs</em>- and the sound is ugly. </p>
<p>"They must be taking the piss." he grouses, rubbing at his eyes before turning the tin towards Gale, who startles at his outburst. </p>
<p>"Ain't had nothing but P&amp;A this whole bloody war, and <em>now</em> we get something half decent?" Blake huffs out another bitter chuckle, casting a glance to Schofield, thinking that he would appreciate that a great deal more. </p>
<p>He almost throws the tin to the ground but stops: they need to try and stay quiet. </p>
<p>Instead, he vents his frustration on the biscuits, ripping them from their package. He feels himself smile when Gale groans at the things.</p>
<p>"No worries, I've got plans for this." </p>
<p>Reaching into his kit again, Blake produced a Tommy's Cooker and his mess tin.</p>
<p>"Now, Scho is much better at this than I am; he's done it a million times I'd wager," he explains while reaching into one of his inner pockets to produce a matchbook. "He fought in the Somme, you know? Scho." </p>
<p>Blake lit the cooker, his eyes flickering to look at Gale to see if she was listening. Her eyes widen slightly at the name, and she looks down at Schofield again, fresh understanding crossing her face. </p>
<p>"Said he learned this over his first winter here," Blake continued putting a little stand over the flickering flame. He poured a portion of water into his tin and placed it over the fire. </p>
<p>"The hardest part is breaking up the biscuits." He took one of the things and tried to snap it in half between his hands, "Bloody things, might as well throw them at the Hun! Might do more damage than a bullet, do ya think?" he looks to Gale, a smile playing on his lips - then he flinches and ducks his head, making a small hissing sound. </p>
<p>Gale lets out a small huff of a laugh and nods just slightly. </p>
<p>Blake's lop-sided smile returns, and he continues his ministrations, Snapping the hardtack in half and forcing it into mildly warm water. He moved the tin away, setting in on the floor.</p>
<p>While they wait for the water to do its work, Blake opened the tin of Bully beef and placed it over the flame. He then produces a small fork, and as the meat began to sizzle and smell, he stabs and stirs it to make sure it heats all the way through.</p>
<p>Every few minutes, Blake would look at Schofield, imploring- begging the man to wake up with the smell of food. </p>
<p>"I feel a bit bad," He admits, now spreading a heap of the steaming bully beef over the softened biscuit. "First decent grub we've had in weeks, and He's going to sleep through it."</p>
<p>Shaking his head, Blake places the first helping of biscuit and beef onto the lid of his mess tin and hands it to Gale.</p>
<p>"Here you are, the finest dining in all of France." </p>
<p>He watches Gale regard the food with a skeptical look on her face; she sniffs at it. He'd done his best with the salt he had, but he already knew well that the stuff tasted about as good as it smelled. </p>
<p>"Cheers then." Blake declares, holding his biscuit up in one hand. Gale returns the gesture with a small hum.  </p>
<p>Once done, Gale returns the tin cover to Blake, who brings out another biscuit and goes about the process again.</p>
<p>Blake looks between the jam and his canteen, a small frown making its way onto his face as he thinks some evaporated milk would go much better: he wondered aloud if Schofield had any squirreled away in his kit. </p>
<p>The look Gale gives him begs for an explanation.  </p>
<p>"Cheeky bastard is good at getting his hands on those little treats. Don't know how he does it." Blake explains as he slathers orange jam over the softened biscuits. "Would have made for a sweeter dessert." </p>
<p>He gives his offering to Gale, who takes it gratefully. </p>
<p>"I'm sure it will be just fine." She assures using the fork to cut a small piece away- the biscuit almost as soft as cake. "It's far better than the Erbwurst I've had." </p>
<p>Gale pauses, a distant look coming to her eyes for a moment, then she shakes her head and stuffs the biscuit in her mouth. </p>
<p>"Erm…whats Erbwurst?" Blake asks it was a German word, no doubt, and he was surprised she'd bring it up at all. </p>
<p>Gale explains that it was pea soup the Germans brought to her. Twice a day, with hardtack and cuts of cheese, followed by tea. </p>
<p>"That sounds good," Blake says, realizing that its been far too many months since he's had soup of any kind. Gale wrinkles her nose at the thought. </p>
<p>"It wasn't so bad at first. But when its all your given. . ." the nurse trails off, suddenly interested in the wall after a moment she chuckles, it’s a acrimonious sound and she shakes her head.</p>
<p>Blake wants to ask but knew better- instead, he busied himself by snuffing out the cooker and shoves it, with his mess tin aside. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would leave it with Gale – along with what's left of his food. Schofield would be hungry when he woke up, and Blake didn't know how long he'd be waylaid with the Devons. </p>
<p>"You should rest, Blake," Gale says, moving to Schofield's side. Blake watches her a moment, frowning. </p>
<p>"So should you." He retorts; the nurse shakes her head slowly before looking at Blake. "You've had a rougher go of it than me."</p>
<p>Gale quite for a long moment, her jaw set like she has something to say. </p>
<p>"Is there any of that meat left?" </p>
<p>Blake blinks at the sudden change in subject. She really is a lot like Scho – and because of this, he knows its no use trying to push her. Instead, she hums and grabs the tin; there was a fair amount of the stuff left in the can- stuck in the crannies. He hands the container over to her with a look on his face, imploring. </p>
<p>She takes one peek inside and tuts. </p>
<p>"Wasteful." She mutters, taking Blakes fork and scraping at the can; she then grabs his mess tin and looks to see what water is left inside it. "We must be getting low on water, I'd imagine." She asks, turning her eyes to Blake. </p>
<p>He shakes the canteen, and yes, its nearly empty- again.</p>
<p>"Does Schofield have water?"</p>
<p>Blake shrugs.</p>
<p>"I don't think so; he didn't refill his can." It seemed a strange thing for Scho to do, but- he seemed distracted at the time, and Blake did not pester him about it. "Why? What are you planning to do?" </p>
<p>Gale doesn't explain but tips the remaining beef into the warm water and stirs it around; she then takes one of the biscuits and starts <em>stabbing</em> it with the fork, breaking crumbs off and into the water. </p>
<p>The lance corporal <em>stares</em> at Gale, wondering just what in the world she was trying to do- the tin and the water inside it was hot enough, he'd figure she'd make tea with it but. . .</p>
<p>"Do you like to cook then?" he asks, thinking it an odd thing to say. </p>
<p>"I do, yes." She answers curtly. Blake huffs- he knows Gale must feel something awful, but he's noticed that her slurring is much improved and her energy is better, a great improvement over the stumbling invalid he had to drag around this morning.</p>
<p>"I'm rubbish at it, really." He begins, leaning back against the wall. "Mum always did the cooking for us back home." </p>
<p>"In Devon?" </p>
<p>Blake blinks and sits up straighter to look at Gale, a smile making its way onto his face.</p>
<p>"You <em>were</em> listening." </p>
<p>Gale nods, alternating between stabbing the biscuit and stirring the contents of the tin. </p>
<p>"I heard some -where in Devon are you from?"</p>
<p>Blake lets out a huff as he thinks back- wondering where he should begin…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the start would be best- with his father's house near the River Tavy. Blakes memories of the place were faint, most of his childhood being spent in Lutton, playing in his grandparent’s little gardens. </p>
<p>But Joe loved to tell him the stories. In the summer, Mum let them go to Plymouth to work with their Uncle, where he and Joe would work at the shipyards, spinning ropes and helping to pull pots of crab and lobster onto their smaller boats, as Mum forbade them from going onto the larger vessels that fished the Channel.</p>
<p>"But sometimes, Uncle John smuggled us out there for weeks at a time- Mum always wondered how we earned the extra bob!" Blake chuckles, finding that the memories made his chest swell. Some strange kind of sad but warm feeling builds up in him, and he was surprised when tears started to run down his face.</p>
<p>He could almost smell the sea air, and the pink roses mum grew in the garden and he. . . he's never wanted to be back to that place more than he did at this moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here we are, at a nice long chapter fo you all I hope you enjoy!</p>
<p>There are a couple of little tidbits here: </p>
<p>First off is Phenacetine! - A pain reliever and fever reducer that was introduced in the 1880s. It was widely used and quite popular, but it was banned from medical use in the 1970s, as it was discovered to have carcinogenic effects. </p>
<p>And now the main article: The British Army's Iron Ration - introduced in the Boer Wars the Iron Ration was developed to keep the men fed in the event that they are cut off from normal food supplies. And typically they could only be opened when given permission from a unit's Commanding Officer. </p>
<p>British Iron Rations typically contained: 1 lb. preserved meat ((bully beef)); 12 oz. biscuit; 5/8 oz. tea; 2 oz. sugar; 1/2 oz. salt; 3 oz. cheese; 1 oz. meat extract </p>
<p>Sometimes the bully beef was replaced by soups, the most well-known example being 'Maconochie' and other times the cheese was replaced by items such as jams as they could be stored longer than cheeses. </p>
<p>Another tool that appears in the chapter is The Tommy's Cooker - a small tin containing 'solidified alcohol fuel' that was used to heat water and food. These early 'pocket ovens' were rather ineffective but their smokeless flames made them safer to use than wood fires. Another alternative for the men was to use unscented candles- which were typically sent to the men as gifts from home.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The hours ticked by slowly and much too quickly all at once.</p>
<p>Blake told a great deal about himself, and Gale refrained from saying much of anything until after finishing her odd concoction of bully broth and <em>mullered</em> biscuit. She tried to feed the stuff to Schofield as he slept, and the fact that he managed some without chocking was considered a good sign from Gale.</p>
<p>Then she forced Blake to lay back against the wall and rest- they had several hours until the sun began to set. The nurse insisted that he needed to gather as much strength as he could, Blake protested at first. But as Gale started to tell him about her home and family, he found himself drifting.</p>
<p>He perked slightly when Gale revealed she had two brothers serving in the Expeditionary Force - one older, one younger, with more siblings back home.</p>
<p>"You have a lot of siblings?" Blakes mumbles, eyes heavy with sleep. Gale settles herself next to him and nods.</p>
<p>"Five." She answers, drawing her legs close to her chest. Blake blinks and sits up slightly.</p>
<p>"Five?"</p>
<p>The nurse nods, a small smirk flickering over her face at Blakes tone. He shrugs; it wasn't so strange a thing, he supposed</p>
<p>"Must have kept your parents busy, raising you all up." He wonders, slumping back to the wall, his body felt heavy. </p>
<p>Gale nodded in agreement and went on to tell Blake about her family's dealings. Of how her parents and Grandmother kept the gaggle of children busy with the endless chores made by their gardens, and orchards, and her father's prized herds and passels.</p>
<p>Blake listened to it all, but he was a tad bit embarrassed to admit- that he drifted off to sleep sometime after the nurse regaled him with tales of making Scrumpy and cheeses with her Grandmother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a nearly dreamless sleep; quick images flickered in his mind – rows of trees in a damp and foggy orchard, a large swollen river rushing through trees.<br/>There is a warmth to one side of him, and it makes the image of a grand fireplace in a room he could hardly remember.</p>
<p>But in what felt no time at all, he was jolted awake by the sound of a church bell ringing out over the town.</p>
<p>He flinches at the sound, and the movement causes pain to rip up his leg. He stifles a shout as his hands fly to the throbbing in his leg. The sound comes out as a long whine.</p>
<p>Gale is there immediately. Steadying and shushing him as the pain runs rampant. The nurse leaves for a moment and returns with that red envelope again.</p>
<p>"Steady on Blake," she says, shuffling through the thing to bring him another lamel of Phenacetine. It would take some time for the item to take effect, so Blake leans back against the wall and focuses on breathing.</p>
<p>After the edge fades from his pain, Blake starts to look about and finds that the bright light of mid-morning has given way to the golden rays of the late afternoon.</p>
<p>This frightens him, and Blake looks to Schofield, who is still stubbornly asleep. It hurts Blake to see how at ease Scho looks at the moment. All of the stress he's been carrying is seemingly gone with his consciousness. His features are entirely free of toils despite the cause of his state.</p>
<p>Blake makes a sound in his throat and returns his attention to Gale, who is settling on the floor. She's started to examine the wound on his thigh. Her gentle fingers move over his leg with feather-like touches.</p>
<p>He watches the nurse closely and soon finds himself staring. There is a nibbling cold seeping into his side, and he realizes that Gale must have cuddled up against him while he slept - he looks at his shoulder and frowns at seeing slight dampness in the wool of his sleeve.<br/><br/></p>
<p>He quickly returns his attention to Gale - he can see the wrinkles in her dress, the way the cotton still hangs close to her body, leaving truly little for him to imagine. Blake flushes at the reminder that Gale is very much: a woman.</p>
<p>Then he blanches at the memory of her, sopping wet, and it wasn't the warmest of days. Every few seconds, the nurse shivers, and Blake sees that her lips are tainted blue. He feels an absolute <em>fool</em> – its been <em>hours.</em></p>
<p>"You twat!" Blake coughs, sitting up and rifling around his kit. "You must be freezing," he explains, wrenching his blanket free- wool on one side, rubber on the other. Blake un-furls it over his lap. Gale stills at his movement, and as Blake drapes it over her shoulders, he notices that she's somewhat delayed in any responses.</p>
<p>"Gale?"</p>
<p>She blinks at him and slowly pulls a smile onto her face- she looks positively exhausted.</p>
<p>"Don't fret about me, Blake," she says, her voice faint, but Blake is very much fretting. He's had some training with first aid- but- if any man under his command was this badly hurt, he just shoves them off to the nearest aid post and gives a little prayer.</p>
<p>He shuffles over, placing a hand on Gales back, and he starts to rub circles over the blanket to warm her. Blake frowns, and he starts to wonder how she'll manage through the night by her lonesome.</p>
<p>
  <em>She seemed to be managing just fine from all help I've been.</em>
</p>
<p>He flinches and quickly checks his watch; it is nearly Seven- he had less than an hour before sunset. Blake turns to Schofield and wrestles with a desire to shake him until he wakes up.</p>
<p>"Any ruckus from our German friends?" he asks instead, looking at Gale with no small amount of worry.</p>
<p>The nurse nods slowly and turns her head toward the window.</p>
<p>"A group of them wandered by- drunk and stumbling about." She explains, and Blake hears the waver in her voice. He is distracted at the idea of the Hun wandering around <em>drunk</em> of all things.</p>
<p>What were the blasted Boche up to anyway? First, they shoot anyone who comes near; then, they drink the afternoon away?</p>
<p>Then the thought of just how horrible this all must be for Gale occurs to Blake.</p>
<p>Being hidden away in here, surrounded by Germans, was terrifying enough to him- but for the nurse, she was utterly defenseless! More and more, he felt as though he couldn't leave her like this.</p>
<p>He leaves his hand to rest on Gale's shoulder, and the nurse puts her much smaller hand over his.</p>
<p>They are silent for several long minutes, trying to find some manner of comfort from one another in such a hopeless place. But again, Gale is the first to push on.</p>
<p>"It will be dark soon." She starts, going through her envelope once more. "We need to get you squared up."</p>
<p>She pulls several of the smaller envelopes free and starts to sort out what she wants to use, and Blake is curious about what she plans to do with him.</p>
<p>"Take these- when it gets dark, they should all be working." She instructs, holding a series of three little lamels in her hand. Blake stares at the items for a moment before picking up the thinnest one.</p>
<p>"And what are all these?" he asks, popping the first one in his mouth- this one tasted somewhat fruity.</p>
<p>"Cascara, cocaine, and more Phenacetine." She prattles off, reading each envelope with some struggle.</p>
<p>Blake nods slowly, brows furrowing as he puts the other two in his mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The skies started to darken rapidly as Gale fretted over Blake- she checked his wounds, redressing them, and re-doing his puttees, with some help from Blake as she didn't know how to do it properly. Finally, she forced him to have another biscuit. Blake started to feel the effects of the medicine in a short time- he felt warm and jittery, but best of all was that the combination chased away almost all his pain.</p>
<p>But he doubted that Gale had anything that could ease his anxiety about what would happen next.</p>
<p>As he finished his preparations, a thought occurs to him – he looks to Gale and then to Scho. Before he wrenches his map free and lays it on the floor, he beckons to Gale, who takes some effort in kneeling down.</p>
<p>"I don't know what state Scho will be in." he starts licking his lip and pointing to a spot on the map. "I don't know how long I will be, but. . . the Devon's are here."</p>
<p>He taps the point, drawing a line from Croiselle Wood, back to Ecoust.</p>
<p>"We are here."</p>
<p>He finds and then taps at the bridge marking their location, then tilts his head up to make sure Gale watched him. She is staring at the map, her eyes darting between the two points, but her face is blank. There is a dumbness there that Bake found worrying. Eventually, she nods, and her eyes find him again; she suddenly has a look of worry on her face, as if she wanted to say something but wouldn't allow herself too.</p>
<p>"You keep this, and make sure Scho gives it a good look over when he wakes up," Blake explains, moving to grab Gale's hand. "It would be best to wait until morning I think."</p>
<p>The last thing Blake wanted to do right now was to leave Gale and Schofield behind. But he knew he couldn't stay.</p>
<p>He had to steel himself, praying all the while that Schofield would wake up before Blake finished preparing to leave. Knowing that even if he did, Blake would still have to leave him behind. If nothing else, Scho would be able to protect Gale.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was nearly seven-thirty, the skies were almost dark. And the dying light of dusk would hide him sufficiently. He hadn't seen nor heard any Germans, but that didn't mean that they suddenly took off.</p>
<p>Blake put the last of his kit back into place, and he drags himself down the stairs. It was tough going at first; his leg didn't want to move despite the loss of pain. He pauses when he reaches the door, staring out at the streets and thinking: they are too well lit yet.</p>
<p>The moon should be full tonight, so he had little time to clear Ecoust before it rose higher in the sky. But Blake also heard the distant rumble of thunder; it took some thinking to parse out if it was gunfire or no. And he determines that it is actual thunder from the lingering smell of rain in the breeze.</p>
<p>Cloud cover would be helpful to hide him, but if it was too dark, that may be its own hindrance.</p>
<p>Blake lets out a sigh; he's shaking, silently urging himself forward, but his feet won't move.</p>
<p>He hears a shuffle behind him. Gale was standing at the stairs, seeing him off. She even managed to hide her trepidation. But Blake feels his shoulders slump at the way she leans into the wall and how she's holding her left arm close to her body.</p>
<p>The young man realizes then that she hasn't used a single bandage to redress her own wounds or any of the medicine to ease her own pain- and he can't. . . he <em>can't</em> leave her like this.</p>
<p>But his brother. . . his eyes sting, and Blake turns his head away. He couldn't abandon Joe- who probably would have charged straight through this hell and reached the Devon's already if their places were reversed. . .</p>
<p>"Oh, God." He whines, looking towards the sky- he didn't have a prayer, anything specific to ask, except maybe: Why?</p>
<p>Why him? Why Joe? Why make Gale suffer - Why hurt Scho when he's toiled so much already? Why make <em>any</em> of them suffer like this?</p>
<p>A distant peel of thunder makes Blake flinch, and he realizes that he's closed his eyes; blinking a few times, he discovers that the light has faded even more.</p>
<p>How much time has he been wasting?</p>
<p>Blake returns his attention to Gale; she's standing next to him now, looking up at the sky with a shockingly serene look on her face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Not yet. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few more minutes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just. . . a few more minutes</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake pulls away from the door and leans heavily against the wall. He looks over his rifle, reloading his clip from what he has left, before closing it up with a sharp CLACK.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wanted to do something else, <em>anything</em> else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I hate this," he confessed, the fear and anxiety chipping away his resolve. Gale moves to stand in front of him.</p>
<p>"Don't worry about us, Blake," Gale assured, her voice gentle and steady. "Those boys in the Devons need you more than we do right now."</p>
<p>She pauses for a moment moving closer to Blake.</p>
<p>"Your brother needs you now."</p>
<p>With one last sigh, Blake stood straight again, held up his rifle, and looked to Gale. His heart already in his throat. </p>
<p>"I will come back." He promised, standing close to Gale so she can look into his eyes. She does, and he is moved at the determination he finds in her. He can only hope his own gaze holds the same fire.</p>
<p>"Wish me luck," he asks, almost pleadingly.</p>
<p>Gale's eyes shift, flickering over his face before she leans in close: She places a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and uses one hand to push at his chest gently. Blake turns his head, his lips ghosting over hers' briefly, but he stops. He closes his eyes, and he knows the expression on his face is a pained one. He lingers for only a moment, then draws in a deep breath, before he turns away and walks into the dusk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Special Edition!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As a very special Haunted Holiday Treat (and a very helpful suggestion by certain Ealasaid)  I have endeavored to bring you:  A choice! </p>
<p>That's rights folks: I couldn't decide which chapter to post in what order so YOU the reader gets to do it instead!  Think of this as:<br/>1917: Choose your own Adventure edition!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <a href="#section0005">Follow Gale</a>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="#section0006">Follow Schofield</a>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="#section0007">Follow Blake</a>
</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoy this litte game  and don't worry- there is no wrong order. </p>
<p>If you do not wish to play along feel free to just hit the 'Next Chapter' button and find out where I put who ;) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also PS: I am in the process of moving(again I know this happened like a year ago) - so if there are any significant chapter deays, don't worry- I am still around I just might not have internet</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember to hover your cursor over any French or German dialog to see the translations!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>Gale did not linger on the ground floor after Blake left; she dragged herself back up the stairs to tend to Schofield. The taller man was just as catatonic as ever. He likely wouldn't wake up any time soon. But he was in stable condition, so her fear of him slipping away had abated over the last few hours. </p><p> She only needed to wait. </p><p> In the past, when she was on Resuscitation Watch. She had tasks to keep her busy throughout the long hours of the night. Other nurses to converse with, other patients to look after- but here. . .</p><p>The nurses gaze flickers over the corpse of the German soldier that lay only feet away. The poor soul was an ever-present reminder of what lurked in the darkness below, and she wonders briefly if he suffered in the end? She hoped not and briefly ducked her head in prayer.</p><p> <em>You've done well, Sister.</em> <em>"</em></p><p>
  <em>Sister Milby flinches at the voice, she lifts her head slowly, trying not to look startled, and she peers down at the blanket-covered bodies on the floor of her little pressing station. She is quiet a long moment, and the form of a man, clad in black, comes to stand at her side. </em>
</p><p>"<em>Not good enough, I</em>'<em>m afraid.</em> <em>"</em> <em> She whispers in response, not looking at the man. </em></p><p>"<em>You saved more than you lost </em> <em>–</em> <em> that counts for something.</em> <em>"</em> <em> The man retorts, and she sees flickers of bright blue eyes and a gentle smile. </em> <em>"</em> <em>Come, your work is for the living.</em> <em>"</em></p><p> </p><p>She takes a deep breath, turning her head to see if the man was still there. But no. . . she is alone, and she feels some measure of sadness at the man's absence – German or no, something about his recollection spurred feelings of familiarity. . . and safety. But she cannot lower her guard for a single man's memory, especially when many more of his ilk would not participate in his kindness. </p><p>Instead, she turns her attention to Schofield; she shuffles over to his side, his breathing is more relaxed, but there is a slight sheen of sweet on his grimy skin. Gale wished she has something to clean him up or that she'd thought to free the blanket out from under his back so that he may be warm through the night. But there was no way to get at the thing without disturbing Schofield, and as the night went on, it would only get colder.</p><p>She shrugs Blake's blanket from her shoulders and lays it over Schofield best she can. The nurse is quite penitent to lose its warmth, and the cold starts nipping at her immediately. She rubs her arm with her good hand and moves off.</p><p>The nurse settles on the floor in the corner; she can see both Schofield and the stairs from here. It was no pleasant thought, knowing that if a German soldier wandered up, she would be left at his mercy, unable to protect herself or her patient.</p><p>There was Schofield's rifle, but – no, she absolutely could not. Gale had only the faintest idea of how to use such things, to begin with.</p><p>She shouldn't think about it; the fright would end her before anything else- and that was saying something considering all which could accomplish such a task at the moment.</p><p>All she had to fill the long hours of the night was Blake's map. But the conditions were so low that she could not read it.</p><p>With the darkness set, the only light she had was Blakes Tommy Cooker – she pawed around for the thing and the matches Blake left behind. But she paused just short of lighting it. </p><p>She had no idea how long the fire would last- if it would attract any Germans to the lockhouse. But it might provide her with some much-needed warmth. She pulls Blakes blanket tighter around her and closes her eyes for a moment. She was so cold- and despite the passage of hours, her dress was still damp. </p><p>Nothing good would come from this; the nights were cold, which would be dangerous for her even if she weren't damp from the river. Gale slowly drifts her eyes over Schofield, and for a moment, the faintest memory of a man's warmth flickers through her mind, and it seeds a small amount of want in her.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>She cannot risk waking Schofield, especially if her presence gives him a fright. He is resting and free of pain, and she would like him to stay that way for as long as possible.</p><p>Gunfire echoes through the town; Gale flinches and stifles a yelp as the noise rips through the quiet. </p><p>One shot, and then another, quickly followed by more. Gale covers her mouth with her hand; she goes still as her ears strain – the noise is far off. There was only one thing it could be, and she feels a new well of despair open in her chest. </p><p>Her eyes fall to Schofield, and she nearly falls to tears for him, as the two men were as close as brothers, and for one to lose the either was almost unfathomable. She sits there unmoving for several long minutes until the echoes of gunfire died away. </p><p>The nurse releases a great sigh and leans back against the wall, allowing her eyes to slip closed.</p><p>It feels like she's set adrift, and she . . . Lord, she just wants to <em>rest</em>. </p><p>'<em>You must stay awake, Sister'</em></p><p>A jolt runs through her, and she searches around. A storm has moved in, filling the lockhouse with the gentle sounds of pattering rain, and Gale realizes that her eyes were closed for more than a moment. She adjusts to the darkness, and she can see Schofield's dark form several feet away. He hasn't moved. No one else is here - So who called to her?</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>A ghost?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gale pushes one hand into her pocket and brings out a metal badge. She ran her thumb over the crafted tin, shaped like a Caribou, with a crown at the top. She can't see the thing, and after a moment of empty consolation, she pushes the item back in her pocket, where it rests against a leather envelope.</p><p>Pain and nausea are starting to trickle back from the fringes of her being, the medicines she was given are wearing thin, she has some of the lamels left, but in the darkness, she cannot decern what medication was what. And taking the wrong could be quite disastrous indeed.</p><p>With this, she's noticed her arm is curling in on itself. Her left hand is gnarled like a claw against her chest, and it takes a painful effort to unfurl her fingers.</p><p>She needed to find something to keep her busy, so she grabs the Tommy Cooker again; her shaking is bad enough to make the lid on the cooker rattle. Again, she reaches for the matches, but she struggles- her left hand is almost useless, and it takes considerable effort to make the thing hold the book steady so she can ignite the match.</p><p>The sudden light is blinding, and Gale snaps her eyes shut to block its effect. She waits as the flame settles into its place.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>'Douse that light, Milby! Do you want to bring the shells down on us?'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gale's whole frame flinches, and the match light is snuffed with a flick of her wrist. Darkness swallows the area again, and she lifts her head to see the Ward Sister. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The men are complaining about the cold," Gale whispers quickly, a child caught red-handed in wrongdoing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"They'll be complaining of far worse if the Fritz sees us." The Ward Sister hisses back as the ghostly rumble of artillery wafts into the tented wards. </em>
</p><p><em>In the quiet moments that follow, Gale cannot hear any planes. If anything, it sounds like. . . rain? But that couldn't be </em> <em>–</em> <em> the weather should be much too cold for both rain and German Pilots. </em></p><p>
  <em> It is undoubtedly far too cold for the injured- their breath forms clouds in the air, and frost collects on the blankets tucked right up under their noses.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> "They already have Frostbite Ward Sister Hanes." She presses moderately, looking to her elder with concern.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> This seems to give Hanes a moment's consideration as she begins patrolling the ward, hands tucked behind her back in that way of hers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Light the stove again, then let us refill their water bladders." she starts. "best be quick about it, Sister Milby." </em>
</p><p><em> In moments, the small paraffin stove was aglow, briefly filling the tent with a warm light. Heat rises from the stove immediately, but it would take a long time for it to waft through the frigid air of the tent. Already the men were giving quiet thanks. Gale quickly and quietly pushes the door closed </em> <em>–</em> <em> but the light doesn't fade. </em></p><p> </p><p>Perplexed, Gale starts to look around and flinches when she realized something very wrong has occurred. </p><p>She is not in a freezing tent in Belgium. The lines of straw-covered men are nothing but shadows on the floor. And in the space where Ward Sister Hanes had just been was where Schofield should be resting.</p><p>Staring at it, Gale takes a long moment to realize that Schofield is not there.  </p><p>She didn't. . . </p><p>"Oh no . . ."</p><p>Gale tries to stand; an orange glow has penetrated the lockhouse, giving everything a hellish ruddiness.</p><p>"No-no-no." she chants, struggling to get her feet under her.</p><p>The light allows for her to see the bitter reality that Schofield was <em>gone</em>. She could scream- but doing so wouldn't help. Gale stumbles to the stairs; her vision swam, and the journey to the ground floor was treacherous. Rainwater slicked the stairs, and she almost fell multiples times. When she reaches the doorway, the nurse almost falls into it, needing something tangible to ground her.</p><p>Her stomach churns, and her eyes swim. Straining, Gale looks out into the street and feels a chill. </p><p> </p><p>The rain has slicked everything, and the glowing light of a massive fire is reflected in every surface and puddle. It brings harsh light to the town, and in it: she can see Schofield- walking stiffly towards the light. </p><p>His rattled mind must've been drawn to it – like a moth to the candle's flame. Gale blanches at the sight, a shout stopping in her throat when a sudden blinding light flashes above the street. </p><p>The onslaught of light hits Gale's eyes with a painful pulse. She flinches back from it with a groan. As Gale tries blinking past the stabbing light, there is a sudden clap of thunder – no – </p><p> </p><p>Gunfire. </p><p> </p><p>Fear brings focus to Gale's gaze; she stares as more shots ring out. Scofield flinches at the noise, his body jerking as he turns his head towards the gunfire.  </p><p>The second shot slaps into the ground near his feet; then, it sends Schofield sprinting down the road. Gale covers her mouth to stifle a scream, and she cowers behind the doorway. </p><p>The gunfire is coming from the canal – a patrol? She doesn't know, and she does dare look to find out. More shots and hissing flares continue lighting the ruined city. The nurse finds the courage to look out again, just in time to see Schofield's small silhouette dive off to one side and out of sight. </p><p>A close form appears- A German sprints down the road alongside the canal as Gale watches with bated breath as the lights danced all around. It made her vision swirl, and the world started to tilt as Gale feels her stomach twist again. She must close her eyes to stop the spinning caused by all the shifting lights. </p><p>When she opens her eyes again, the flare has died, the light of that distant fire being the only source of illumination once more. </p><p>Next, Gale knew she was rushing out of the lockhouse. She was halfway across the street before she realized what she was doing.</p><p>Another flare screeches into the sky, and Gale flinched then started to run. She follows the rim of a vast crater in the street and makes for a narrow road. One which runs parallel to the one Schofield disappeared down. She could have sworn he dodged to the left, and with any luck, she could intercept him. She'd abandoned Blakes map, but she studied it enough to know Schofield was going the wrong way. </p><p>Gale makes her way to the side street just as the light of the flare faded. Her hand finds a wall, and she stops with a gasp – her lungs are sawing, and her legs ached. </p><p>She manages several deep breaths, then the churning in her stomach becomes too much; she doubles over and vomits. She braces herself with one hand pressed to the wall as her stomach is upended. The episode leaves her weak and shaking. All her strength is used to keep her upright against the wall, gasping for air.</p><p>The nurse flinches when another flare pops and hisses into the air. She goes still, waiting for the light to reach the narrow street she's hidden within. As the glow washes down the walls, Gale sees that the road is choked with fallen debris, leaving only a little winding path for her to follow. She moves with the light going faster than she ought to, with her feet wobbling over the shifting ground. </p><p>She shuffles along, trying desperately to ignore the screaming behind her ears – a voice telling her to <em>stop.</em> The only thing that would come of this is capture by Germans and – if lucky, a swift death would be the best to come of <em>that</em>. </p><p>It was terror upon terror, every step forward she made, and yet- Gale ignored it all. </p><p>She suddenly reaches an opening, space where a building once stood; the path ahead is shut with its tangled remains of brick and timber. She peers around the corner where rooms should have been. She scans the area when some part of her feels that this is where Schofield ought to be. </p><p>But he is not, and Gale can only shake her head. </p><p>She ducks back behind the wall and takes several deep breaths. She closes her eyes and covers her mouth with one hand – What now? </p><p>Another flare arches into the air, and Gale looks around her as the new light trickles down. She begins to sneak back the way she came and - yes! - There is an alley leading to the next street over. The nurse moves for it, finding the narrow path in the moments before the flare dies.</p><p>The darkness is oppressive as Gale stumbled through the narrow passage and into the neighboring street. She pauses and waits, there is a steady glow from whatever is burning in the forum, but the light also shows Gale that the path towards it is blocked, made impassible by fallen buildings and collapsed colonnades. Gale feels her shoulders slump, and again she looks for another way. </p><p>Squinting, she spots another street, and the space beyond it seems brighter. </p><p>"It may be the main street." Gale wonders as she looks both ways across the road. She can't see anything that looks like a soldier. So the nurse lurches forward, stumbles around a crater, only making it halfway across before the flare falls behind the buildings beyond, and she's cast in darkness again. The loss of light makes her stagger, but she's better for it as a strange sound zips through the air before her; in the next instant, something slams into the stone of a neighboring building. </p><p>As she comprehends this, the sound of gunfire reaches her ears. </p><p>Gale's blood runs cold, and she's frozen in place; another sound, and another bullet slams into the building. This time Gale sees the sparks thrown out by lead meeting stone. </p><p>Then she is moving, bolting forward like a horse from the chute. She clips the corner on her shoulder and stumbles into the opposite wall with a strangled cry. She bites into her tongue to hold in the pained howl and forces herself to stagger forward before another flare can fly and reveal her to the German she did not see. </p><p>As she does this, she becomes vaguely aware of more gunfire, the sound muffled by distance, but it seems to be coming from the forum's direction. Gale takes a long moment to catch her breath before she moves, the thundering pain in her head has returned, and it feels like her very skull is cracking. </p><p>"What am I doing?" she mutters to herself, gripping her aching shoulder with one hand as she drags one foot in front of the next. She's gone well and truly mad, running about a shelled-out town like this, trying to find an equally mad man- such work was better left to the orderlies!</p><p>Maybe she should have tried calling for him, and he would have run back to her like a lost dog. Perhaps she should have stayed in the lock house and hope Blake would understand- if he wasn't dead already. Or maybe she could have moved faster getting free from that Ambulance, and she'd be safe with Captain Smith's men! </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Enough.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gale stops. She wilts against a partially collapsed wall and heaves a great sigh. The world spins lazily, and when she opens her eyes again, everything is smearing and tilting as if she were suddenly inside an oil painting. </p><p> </p><p>She forces herself to keep moving, but she can't think of where she was going. She wanders down the debris-covered alley. She is forced to clamber over a waist-high pile of bricks. As the building at the end of the street has collapsed. It was a challenging endeavor; bricks shifted under her weight, and the broken edges bite into her hands, but she endures, clamoring over the obstacle slowly. But inevitably, she finds her way to the other side.</p><p> </p><p>This was quickly proven to be a mistake, as the fallen building has spilled over the street, and the only direction left was to turn towards the forum. </p><p> </p><p>The shadows have changed, and she remembers that the forum was a big square on the map. She's reached one of its corners. At least on this street, the columns are still intact, and she can get to the colonnades. Maybe now she could double back . . .</p><p> </p><p>Her pace is little more than a crawl, and the forum is further away, then she first thought as she stumbled forward; she is nearly at the corner when a noise meets her ears. It causes her to pause a moment – it sounded like. . . footfalls?</p><p> </p><p>Ice runs down her back as one of the shadows moves differently from the others, and just as she starts to back away, a German soldier rounds the corner at nearly a full sprint.</p><p> </p><p>The man makes a noise of surprise and skitters to a stop barely arm's length from the nurse.</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause- a new flare flew overhead, filling the street with brilliant light—the illumination allowing the pair to look at one another. </p><p> </p><p>Gale felt her breath hitch; something stirred deep from inside her mind.</p><p> </p><p>This man . . . the man with hair that was gold like hay, and eyes as blue as the winters sky. His black uniform is disheveled, and his regalia is gone, where before it was always crisp.</p><p> </p><p>She knows him a name floats to the forefront of her mind: Captain Ebner.</p><p> </p><p>The fog is ripped from Gale's mind with the force of a maelstrom – This man, who ensured her protection when in German hands. The man who smuggled her cheese and sips of wine. This man who gave her kindness in those dark times.</p><p> </p><p>He was also the man who, when she last saw him, was pointing a gun at her head.</p><p> </p><p>A long moment of silence passes between the two; neither move; neither seem to even breathe until finally.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Fraulein. . .</span> </em>” the man whimpers, his voice cracking with emotion as he moves to cover his mouth with one hand. “<em> <span>Ein Nachzehrers. . .</span> </em>"</p><p> </p><p>Gale is. Still, she doesn't know what to do; she takes in a shaky breath.</p><p> </p><p>"Ebner." She sighs, and she watches the man before her as he tries collecting himself.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> <span>Du arme Seele.</span> </em> He mutters, rummaging into his pockets, and Gale feels a new wave of terror as the man pulls his bayonet free with one hand, and in the other, he holds something small... a coin?</p><p>“<em> <span>Komm fur dein pfun fleisch, oder?</span> </em>” he wonders, his whole body is shaking as he holds his hand out, to snatch Gale if she tried to move, like a man trying to catch a snake. She is petrified; what was he planning to do? Kill her again?</p><p>The man takes a shaky step forward, an increasing look of desperation growing on his face; the man snarls, his breathing hissing quickly between his teeth. He inches ever closer, and the war in his eyes reaches its end. He draws in a great big breath, and a shout rises from his throat as it seems he's about to sink his bayonet straight through the specter's skull.</p><p>But his eyes lock with Gales- the shout dies, his snarl melts, and Gale sees the last flickers of his rage fall to sorrow. His arm falls to his side, bayonet clattering to the ground, and he whimpers.</p><p>"Oh, Fraulein. . ." he whines, stumbling back a step and covering his mouth. "How you must hate me."</p><p>Gale can't breathe; she can't even blink. The nurse might as well be made of stone as she stares at the man, her mind flagging, and all she can do is gape at him. She smells the pungent scent of alcohol on his breath, and she sees it in his eyes; he's well and truly drunk, likely on anything he could find. He's pale, filth matted, and hardly recognizable from the man that lived in her memory.</p><p> </p><p>The church bell suddenly rings, clear and loud, and foreboding.</p><p> </p><p>Ebner nearly jumps from his skin and releases a horrid wail, his hands flying to cover his ears as the bell sounds six times.</p><p><br/>
"Your calling death to me!" he cries, swaying on his feet, and Gale can see he's gone completely mad. The man moans as if in pain, "And I deserve it."</p><p>Slowly, he lifts his head again as the church bell echoes into silence once more, and Gale finds herself frozen, staring in shock and pity while Ebner continues his mad rambling.</p><p>"You have come to torment me!" he declares in accusation. "Ensure my sins be remembered? – I wanted to spare you!" he shouts suddenly, his arms flailing, gesturing to some imaginary figure. Gale can only flinch back. Ebner's eyes are wild, and his whole-body shutters; the man moves as if pleading with the supposed specter. "So many wicked souls, who deserved the gun. . . but not you." </p><p>Ebner moves forward, extending his hand to cup the woman's face. "Not you. . ."</p><p>The man's hand nearly touches Gale before the nurse finds the sense to pull back further.</p><p>His reaction is instantons, Ebner's' face twists in anguish, and he sobs again. He recoils, shaking with such force that he crumbles to the ground. His breathing comes and goes in great heaves before he doubles over and <em>screams</em>.</p><p>"Have me then!" he shouts, filled with rage, his arms fall wide open, and in one hand, he clutches his pistol. "Have your vengeance," he says again- quieter and weaker as the gun is turned towards his head. "Take me to the deepest pits of hell if that pleases you." The pistol touches the steel of Ebner's helmet, and the man takes in one more, shaky breath before:</p><p>"Don't!" cries Gale, falling forward and grasping the man's hand – there is a flash of light and a clap of thunder as the pistol fires in the small space between the two. Both sit in silence, stunned as the burn from the muzzle flash washes over their skin. Gale is first to move, drawing herself back as the weight of what she's done sinks in.</p><p><br/>
"Leon. . ." She breaths, remembering this man, who is a husband, a father. He is someone's brother, someone's son. If she had the strength, she would say that she does not hate him. She holds a great deal of fear, but not anger. If anything, she also feels sadness and pity; this war has made monsters of even the finest men. She's seen the lengths of his cruelty and also the depths of his compassion. She remembers the strife in him as he drew his pistol against her, the anguish in his words as he begged her forgiveness.</p><p>She rests her hand on his cheek, swipes a tear from his grime coated skin, and retreats.</p><p>She stands while the man stares up at her in shock. His mouth moves, but there are no words, and Gale feels she can't linger any longer.</p><p>As she walks away, shaking in terror, the nurse can hear the man break down, his sobbing and crying getting louder, and she feels terror run down her spine when she hears shouting and footfalls coming from elsewhere.</p><p>She cannot go back the way she came, and she finds the strength to start rushing once more, looking for the first dark shadow she can hide within. She is nearly at a sprint, an impressive feat for her condition when she sees the first open alley and dives into it.</p><p> </p><p>Only to barrel straight into someone else.</p><p> </p><p>Both parties are quite surprised, and Gale is sent back reeling, only for those same hands to snatch her arms and wrench her back into the shadows. The world is spinning, and Gale's head is pounding. She can't make heads or tails of the man who shoves and shuffles her about in the small space. But her handling is quite rough, and stars explode in front of her eyes as she's pushed to the ground and her head knocks against the stone. A pained noise is stopped as one hand catches her throat in an iron grip.</p><p>There is a long, horrible moment when it seems as though her life will be squeezed out of her. But all at once, the pressure relents, and she's left gasping, her whole body shaking as she struggles for air.</p><p>"Oh, no."</p><p>The hands return, much gentler, and she's given a shake. Her swimming eyes settle on the dark form above her as those hands settle on either side of her face.</p><p>"Gale. . ."</p><p>She knows that voice, and she can't help but smile at the relief that fills her when she finds the name that belongs to it.</p><p>"Ss-Scho…"</p>
<hr/><p>Follow: <a href="#section0007">Blake</a></p><p>                                                                                                                         </p><p>Follow:<a href="#section0006"> Schofield</a></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun factoid of the day: our german character mentions a little something called a 'Nachzehrer' or literally an After-walker/After-Eater</p><p>A figure of German folklore that is similar to a vampire or zombie, Nachzehrers are said to be created when someone dies of suicide or is killed in an accident: these beings are said to rise from the dead and consume their own un-dead flesh before going on to sap the life-force of their families. </p><p>A common means of re-killing Nachzehrers involves stuffing a coin (or other objects) into the creature's mouth, and then beheading them!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember to hover your cursor over any French or German words to see the translations!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Schofield finds himself in the one place he never expected to see again: home. He looks about the area, it doesn't look like home. . . but he feels it in part of himself. The narrow halls, the balcony at the top of the stairs, it was familiar and alien all at once. And he too feels the slightest bit alien. He floats from room to room he's. . . searching for something, someone. . . yes, there is something he needs to do</p>
<p>He turns and finds himself inside his bedroom; it seems empty despite the bed and furnishings all being as he remembered it to be. Back behind him, a soft summons.</p>
<p>"Will. . ."</p>
<p>The voice strikes him in the chest and fills him with warmth, the soft tone he hasn't heard in what feels eons. He is filled with yearning and follows the voice.</p>
<p>The hall beyond his door is not the one that rests in his house. The railings which should have been wood are now wrought iron, the carpet was now concrete, and everything seems to have become damp and dank.</p>
<p>This place is not his home, but it was just moments ago. Schofield turns, calling for his wife as fear stabs at his chest.</p>
<p>There is something he needs to do - someone he needs to find. . .</p>
<p>He calls out again, ducking his head into the room where his daughters should be sleeping. But the space that greets him is empty. The small beds are gone, the rose-pink walls are white as dried bones, and the plaster is cracked and crumbling from the shiplap in rotting heaps. In the center of the room, where a large rug should be, lays a single decrepit doll, its eyes burnt away with the lingering smell of tobacco floating in the air.</p>
<p>Then the thing sits up as if possessed, and the echoes of children fall on the room like peals of thunder.</p>
<p>Laughing, crying, and screaming – all of it falls on Schofield's ears, and he recoils from it with a distressed wail. He stumbles into the wall, his hand hitting the plaster, then slipping down as if it were a sheet of ice. And when he turns to investigate, his stomach drops, and he whimpers.</p>
<p>The flesh of his hand is grey and rotten; maggots and nightcrawlers writhe about the seething rot as black veins slowly climb his arm.</p>
<p>"Will."</p>
<p>He gasps and turns, his is at the head of the stairs and stood before him: a woman – his wife, her dark curls are a mess about her shoulders, and she stands before him in a rigid stance. She's ghostly pale and is clad in a dress of greys and whites as if she's walked free from a photograph.</p>
<p>Even so, Schofield is struck, and he stumbles for her. He reaches for the woman he loves but stops short – the decay on his hand is spread up to his elbow, flesh hangs off the bone in scraps of rot.</p>
<p>There is no pain, no smell of death, and Schofield can do nothing but try to shield the horrid sight from his wife. His eyes dart up to her, expecting to see horror and revulsion, but she stares at him with indifference, her expression is stone, and her eyes are dark pools that show no emotion.</p>
<p>"Darling?" he breathes, concern rising as she remained unmoving, and it's all <em>wrong</em>.</p>
<p>She isn't the one he needs to find – this isn't the place he is meant to be.</p>
<p>"Don't break it." His wife says suddenly, and in a blink, she's behind him.</p>
<p>Schofield wavers as he turns.</p>
<p>"What?" he whispers in shock. As he stares, black blood flows in rivers down one side of her head, painting her with inky darkness. Schofield flinches; he snaps his arms up to grab his wife by the shoulders, panic hitting him when his hands pass through her as if she were made of mist.</p>
<p>Schofield whimpers as he pulls back, and he tries his hardest not to look at the skeletal hand wrapped in black flesh, which floats on his arm.</p>
<p>His wife's form wavers then settles, and she reaches for him, her hand briefly coming to rest over the tin resting at his breast. And Schofield shakes his head just slightly, not understanding – his mind is a fog.</p>
<p>Suddenly, she plunges her fingers into his very flesh.</p>
<p>Schofield gasps, and his whole body goes still. He feels this invasion with startling clarity as her icy fingers push past his bones as if they were made of treacle. He gasps and sobs at the feeling; his chest is writhing at the strange sensation. Then his wife seizes his beating heart in her grasp, and it stills in a moment of pure terror.</p>
<p>Pain engulfs the whole of Schofields being as his wife flickers her gaze to his, and she leans in close, her lips lingering over his and with a voice as smooth as warm honey.</p>
<p>"Come back to Us."</p>
<p>She releases him then, pushing the man back with ease – then Schofield is falling.</p>
<p>The stairwell swallows him; he's falling faster and further. The drop longer than his home is tall – a hellish light engulfs the rapidly shrinking form of his wife, then- he lands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is like a harsh slap to his back, and Schofield gasps, his body jerking violently. Everything starts to spin, a cascade of black and orange swirling above him as pain explodes from the back of his skull.</p>
<p>He groans, wilting against the ground once more; as the spinning slowly comes to an end, he comes to realize that he's laying against his kit – something about this doesn't seem right, but he can't think.</p>
<p>Slowly he picks up his head again and lifts his hand; the hellish glow is spilling over him from a window to his side, but all he see's is that his hand is whole – pain thrums from it, and even in the darkness, he sees there is swelling, but it's there.</p>
<p>He turns his hand over and tries to read his watch; the light catches it, but the glass is cracked, and the face hasn't moved in hours.</p>
<p>He lets out a small groan and lets his hand drift back to his head; the pain pulses with each beat of his heart, and he can't remember how this happened. His fingers ghost over the feeling of fabric where his hair should be, and a gentle prod produces a greater bite of pain, and he recoils his hand.</p>
<p>A bandage?</p>
<p>Blake.</p>
<p>The name sends a jolt through Schofield, and he remembers, flashes of happenings jump from his jumbled mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>A bridge – Blake is behind him, chatting nervously as they tried crossing the collapsed metal span. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>CRACK</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A bullet – a sniper, in the lockhouse. Schofield jumped and scrambled across the bridge, his feet slip on the metal, and he nearly falls into the channel, his feet splash into the inky waters, and he struggles to pull himself up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Blake is there, teeth bared in fright, and he says something to Schofield, he doesn't hear, and Schofield is still pulling himself from the channel as Blake pushed towards the stairs. He remembers calling for Blake, screaming after him to wait. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He remembers the Snipers gunshot ringing out and a spray of red flying from Blake's leg. The younger man cries out and falls in a heap. Schofield moves; in his mind, he remembers counting the moments as if he were the sniper – rechamber the gun, check his aim- settle his sights on his now prone target. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Schofield's hands tangle in Blakes webbing, and he wrenches the young man back with all his might. The next bullet bites into the concrete in the space between Blakes legs – where an instant before, the lead would have sunken into Blake's belly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Schofield drags his friend away from the fire, Blake is screaming – bright blood spurts from his leg, and there is nothing Schofield can do. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He remembers. . . He ducks in the stairs' tiny space and bullets crash into the opposite wall, showering him with little cement pellets.  He stands, whirling his gun around, there is a window, and he fires once before ducking down again. He gasps for breath, tries to steady his hands. Schofield waits for the bullets to stop, and he stands- </em>
</p>
<p>The memories take his breath away – he turns his head, and <em>yes,</em> it's the window, the sniper. . .</p>
<p>
  <em>Blake. </em>
</p>
<p>Where was Blake?</p>
<p>He looks around, turning his head a bit too fast, and it makes his vision swim. He can’t <em>see</em>; there is nothing but the tiny space in front of him; it's blurry, and the world is a swirl of black and fiery light.</p>
<p> He clambers to his feet, and his hand finds his rifle, sitting at his side. He doesn't stop to think it's an odd thing, and he stumbles for the stairs.</p>
<p>The stairs are dark, with light coming in from the open door at the ground level; he struggles and as he descends. His foot meets something metallic, and he accidentally kicks it into the wall. The noise makes his flinch, and he shakes his head – this does him no good, and he all but falls down the last of the stairs.</p>
<p>Images of Blake flicker behind his eyes as Schofield leans heavily into the doorframe.</p>
<p>
  <em>Pale, dirty, the bright blood painting his leg and his pained whimpers as Schofield presses all his weight onto the gash in his flesh. The Snipers bullets lash after him, and Schofield. . . he made a decision. </em>
</p>
<p>He was in the lockhouse – the dark vestiges of blood are still on his palms, Blakes blood– and Blake is not here.</p>
<p>Schofield stares out at the eerie space outside; his world is small but what leaks in from the darkness shows him a town coated in liquid fire. As he stumbles about, he finds large pits that shine with reflections of fiery orange and blood-red – there is a haze in the air, and the smell of smoke is nearly suffocating. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Down to Gehenna or up to the throne. . .</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words float in his mind, the visage of an impeccably dressed officer in a dimly lit room.</p>
<p>Gehenna. . . yes, that made some sense to Schofield.</p>
<p>The ghostly forms of broken buildings stand-out from a hellish glow. It is the only light in this strange world, and Schofield is drawn to it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Blake. . . </em>
</p>
<p>There is no sense in Schofield's mind; his legs move on their own – even if they tangle and trip on themselves, he nearly falls on more than one occasion, but he does not stop, determined to try and reach the source of the light.</p>
<p>A sudden clap of thunder punches its way through the ringing in his ears, and a flash follows it. But it is not lighting; the light stays and hisses in the air, stark shadows stand all around in a world that now has splashes of white with its oranges and blanks.</p>
<p>He tilts his head up and sees: a falling star?</p>
<p>It floats overhead, falling slowly, and its tail sends dots of white fire falling to the ground; he is both blinded and transfixed, he can't stand it, but he can't look away. All the while, his feet continue to carry him forward like a train on a track.</p>
<p>Something seems to explode off to his side. Schofield jerks to a stop. He stares at the space beside him before he turns his head in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>Another thunderclap followed by a flash of light several feet from him, and Schofield sees iron bars for a brief moment, but the flash and thunder strike fear in him, and he starts to sprint down the path in front of him.</p>
<p>The star dies, and he can't see with the sudden return of darkness, he wavers on his feet- but the thunder follows him, spurring him on, and it's a small miracle that he does not fall. He pushes himself, faster, <em>faster</em>.</p>
<p>He must get away.</p>
<p>What follows is an onslaught of swirling colors interrupted by warring flashes of light and darkness. Demons seem to jump after him from every other corner, launching thunderbolts at his heels through the smoke and shadows. All of the world in his enemy, Schofield, cannot see- he cannot think, he is reduced to a wild beast, a deer chased by ravenous wolves in a thicket of stone and steel.</p>
<p>There is a moment of calm – he is in an alley, dark and filled with smoke, but the stars are no longer falling from the skies, and the thunderbolts have stopped crashing around him. Now heat bears down on him with heavy wind, and loud crackling pushes into the fringes of Schofield's awareness; he turns to the sound.</p>
<p>A wavering, harsh light, a continuous roar pours from the path, and Schofield moves for it; some unconscious part of him moves to rechamber his rifle, the empty bullet casing tumbles to the ground with a quiet jingle. </p>
<p>The going is easier now despite the roaring noise, and Schofield soon finds himself walking beneath stone archways. The smoke and light grow in intensity, and Schofield’s eyes finally find its source.</p>
<p>The sight makes his jaw go slack as he takes in the scene of a large cathedral engulfed in flames. He stares at it, his mind grinding to a stop as he fails to comprehend it all.</p>
<p>Movement catches his eye, and Scofield turns, startling. There, in the smoke. . . is the form of a man, standing by watching the flames, same as he.</p>
<p>Blake?</p>
<p>Schofield takes half a step closer to the shadowy figure, and it seems to move the same. They both pause, then the other ducks his head and starts to amble closer. The form stumbles and wavers; as if drunk or injured, but Schofield doesn’t speak; he doesn’t move; something is wrong.</p>
<p>He didn’t remember Blake being so tall.  His hands fix themselves on his rifle, and his heart starts to race as the shape becomes clearer.</p>
<p>A German soldier.</p>
<p>The two realize they are enemies simultaneously; the German pauses and slowly brings a weapon to bear against Schofield.</p>
<p>There is a flash and a clap of thunder; Schofield lurches, expecting to feel the punch of a bullet in his gut, but there is none, and as the German starts to charge towards him, Schofield turns and runs.</p>
<p>Bars of orange and black pass over Schofield's eyes, he runs blindly down the path. His legs eat up the ground, and his lungs heave smoke-laden air as more shots chase after him.  There is a crash, and the gunfire stops, but Schofield continues to run; he runs and runs until his lungs and limbs burn.</p>
<p>Out of the jumble of doors, windows, and walls, Schofield sees a latch – and instinct draws him to it; he kicks the wood aside with one swift motion and dives into the darkness – a burrow of stone.</p>
<p>His feet hit the ground with a clack, and the jolt makes his head spin. He presses his back against the wall, and he bites his tongue to try and stop the noise of his breathing as footfalls rush past him.</p>
<p>He stands there staring at a soft light spilling out from a door near him, and once he finds the courage to move, he is drawn to the space.</p>
<p>The light is not so harsh here; a small stove burns low and makes the air warm. Schofield draws his weapon up as he scans the space; someone has been residing here.</p>
<p>He feels the person's presence more than he sees them. He goes still and slowly turns, his whole frame going cold as he expects to be shot down at any moment.</p>
<p>But the sight that meets him makes the man flinch; he nearly gasps as he takes in the sight of a frightened woman huddled in a portal.</p>
<p>She was wearing white and grey clothes, with messy dark curls laying over her shoulders.</p>
<p>His chest aches, and he wavers, not lowering the weapon until the woman speaks.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Il ny rien ici.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>French.</p>
<p>Schofield blinks- the woman speaks French, and this makes his mind churn; slowly, the frightened animal is pushed back, and rationality returns to him.</p>
<p>He is in France.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Nous n'avons rien pour vous.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>The woman continues, her voice pleading, and she shakes in fear. Schofield slowly lowers his weapon – he knows French, but it takes him a moment to find his words.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>S'il vous plaît.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>She adds, sounding nearly on the verge of tears as she shakes her head just slightly.</p>
<p>Schofield raises his hand; after a moment more of searching, he rediscovers his voice.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Anglais. Pas All-Not German</span> </em>” He starts; his voice is hoarse and sounds strange to him; the words are not right. “Friend... I am a friend.”</p>
<p>The woman nods slowly, relief seeming to flood her, and she slowly moves from the shadows. Schofield looks her over, a slight thing- cheeks and eyes hollow- probably half-starved.</p>
<p>There is a pause as they regard one another, and the small pieces of thought form a question in Schofield's clouded mind.</p>
<p>He is in France – he is a soldier, a mission.</p>
<p>He is on a mission.</p>
<p>“I need to be somewhere.” He whispers, his brows knitting together as the pain in his head returns; he sways from it. “I need to find. . .”</p>
<p>Images and names of places begin to chatter in his head:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Great big ships full of men, A port by the sea: <em>Boulogne</em><em>. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rolling hills, peppered with holes, a hill covered in barbed wire, a steep ridge- Flying metal, screaming shells, screaming men, machine guns – blood and mud and <em>the rest of the lads are gone Will, we’ve reached the face</em>. <em>Will, don’t you be going too – Thiepval. . .Thiepval. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>White clad screens inside white-clad tents, filled to the brim with rushing white-clad women with little red crosses on them: <em>Rouen.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A field filled with little khaki tents; a railroad platform is made a stage. Officers, finely groomed, handing out shiny metals on bright ribbons:<em> Aire</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Trench, deep and wet, men mill around low, digging and filling sandbags that slowly seep red: <em>Careful there- that’s our Sergeant: Paradise Alley </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“Your orders are to get to the 2<sup>nd</sup>, one mile northeast of the town of Ecoust.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ecoust. . . </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Schofield slowly raises his head and looks at the woman again; she watches him with troubled eyes.</p>
<p>“This town.” He starts making a small gesture.“<em> <span>Ecoust,C'est Ecoust?</span> </em>”</p>
<p>The woman nods, her voice faint.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Oui</span> </em>”</p>
<p>Relief washes over Schofield; he releases a breath and nods once – he is not lost in Gehenna.</p>
<p>In Ecoust, he can find his way; there may be salvation for him yet.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Autres?</span> </em>"; the woman asks, drawing Schofield's attention to her once more; he is confused.<em> <span>Ou sont les autres?</span></em>"she says, her eyes moving up to the chute he dropped in from.</p>
<p>“Others?” he breathes, his brows knitting again—others – not others, only one.</p>
<p>Schofield turns to his side, but the person he’s thinking of is not there.</p>
<p>“No. . .” he hisses, his eyes returning to the girl. “Only me.” He points at himself, feeling a well of sadness build up in his chest.</p>
<p>Blake is not here, and he does not know why. Schofield blinks, mouth forming a frown. The growing pain makes thinking more and more difficult</p>
<p>
  <em>You have a brother in the Second Battalion?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes, sir, Lieutenant Blake is he. . .</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Reach the Second here – </em>
</p>
<p>– <em>If we aren’t clever about this, no one will reach your brother. </em></p>
<p><strong><em>I</em></strong><em> will</em>.</p>
<p>Blake. . . the wood, his brother – the <em>attack</em>.</p>
<p>“I need to be somewhere.” He declares suddenly, <em>that</em>is what he must find, where he must go. He turns to the girl. “I need to find. . . a wood?”</p>
<p>The woman stares at him, not understanding, and Schofield struggles to find the words; he starts to gesture with his hands.</p>
<p>“Trees. . . l-les arbres?</p>
<p>The woman shakes her head slightly, her eyes following his hands as he tries to find the right <em>word</em>.</p>
<p>“Croiset?”</p>
<p>The woman's eyes furrow in thought, and she turns her head to one side.</p>
<p>“Croisilles?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes.</em>” Will breaths leaning forward, the room tilts in a threatening manner, he winces slightly, and his hand drifts up. He watches her, hanging on every word as she tells him what he needs to know.</p>
<p>The river, it goes. . . the wood. The river flows to Croisilles.</p>
<p>The news gives Schofield some relief, and he takes a moment to check his pounding head; the contact makes him reel, and his stomach lurches, threatening to spill over, and he starts to crumple, doubling over and resting his elbows on his knees. His rifle clatters to the ground, and the suddenness of the spell makes him gasp.</p>
<p>The woman moves, concerned.</p>
<p>She says gentle words to him and draws him to a chair that is mercifully only an arm's length away. But it feels much further, and Schofield falls into it with a grunt; his body is made of lead, and the room continues to spin. He keeps his hand to his head, not daring to move needlessly.</p>
<p>The warmth of the fire hits him in gentle waves, calling him to rest once more – there is no pain with rest, and Schofield feels himself starting to drift.</p>
<p>A cool hand touches him, making the man flinch, his eyes shoot open, and he sees the girl, looking at him with deep concern.</p>
<p>“Shh.” She shushes, slowly moving his hand away. She has a clump of fabric in her free hand, and she moves closer.</p>
<p>A sensation of cold and damp touches Schofield's forehead, and he jolts again, whimpering at the touch, and he hears the woman shush him once more.  He melts into the chair as the girl carefully cleans his face with the cloth. Her touch is so light and careful, the gentleness of it is like a long-forgotten memory, and the chill brought by the fabric helps to soothe the burning under his skin.</p>
<p>When the woman seems to be done, Schofield pulls his eyes open and slowly turns his head to look at her; she is watching him.</p>
<p>“Thank you. . .” he whispers, blinking slowly as he struggles to keep hold of his awareness –</p>
<p>Then a noise from elsewhere in the room rouses him. The man starts and watches as the girl moves away. Next to the rotting mattress on the floor is a dresser, with tiny noises coming from it.</p>
<p>Schofield pulls himself up, and his legs struggle to hold him as he watches the girl pull the drawer open – cloth is lining the thing. Schofield feels both dread and hope war inside his chest as the girl lifts a tiny bundle from the drawer.</p>
<p>A baby is brought into the dim light.</p>
<p>The sight of something so innocent is this war-torn place makes Schofield's chest ache, and he draws himself closer, kneeling next to the bed as the girl frets over the babe.</p>
<p>“A girl.” He wagers, looking at the baby's round little face, its cheeks not as plump as they should be, but the babe has not noticed him.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Oui, Une fille.</span> </em>” The girl answers as the babe grabs at the girl's dress with her tiny hands and brings them to her mouth, trying to suckle. Schofield feels his mouth pull into a smile; something in his chest stirs; it is warm, aching, and familiar.</p>
<p>“What is her name?”</p>
<p>Whatever warmth the sight of this babe brings Schofield withers when the girl gives him a desolate look, she shakes her head slowly and gently rubs the babes back when it starts to fuss.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>“J’ne sais pas.”</span> </em>”</p>
<p>Schofield's smile dies, and he takes a closer look at the two. The babe can not yet be six months old, and the girl – no, he can see she had not been nursing.</p>
<p>“Who is her mother.”</p>
<p>“<em> <span>“J’ne sais pas.”</span> </em>” She repeats, sounding on the verge of tears, and Schofield nods, and he fights not to be overcome with despair at this sorry sight. But he is not helpless in this, a thought strikes him, and he starts removing his kit.</p>
<p>“I have these.” He announces, flinging his bag open; he starts to grab at his store – the whole iron ration is hers. Three tins of bully beef – hers. He debates giving her the Maconochie but relents; she has fire and can cook it into edibility.  He digs deeper.</p>
<p>His ‘Little Kitchener,’ a tin of fuel, three candles, and a matchbook. His tin mug for her. His fork, hers – the knife and spoon he <em>might </em>have stolen from the convalescent home? Hers. All hers.</p>
<p>He shoves them towards her with a small clatter; the noise attracts the attention of the baby.</p>
<p>"Here-“<em> <span>“Prends-le.</span> ” Schofield explains, plunging his hands back into the sack.  “Take them all.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is are two packets of<em> Frys cocoa </em>he was planning to give Blake for his birthday- <em>he’d understand</em> – further down the pack are his most coveted treats: a package of Ovaltine, two tins of Ideal Milk- then there are handfuls of tiny squares all tied up in a cheesecloth – bouillons that can be made into broth-</p>
<p>“For the child-.” He says before cutting himself short. He drops the bouillons onto the mattress as his hands fly to his canteen.</p>
<p>He pauses, eyes locking with the girls as he remembers.</p>
<p>Schofield pops his canteen open and holds it for the girl – she gives him a look before sniffing at the vessel.</p>
<p>“Milk.” He declares; the girl flinches at the smell that greets her, and a flicker of hope rises in her eyes.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>"Lait..."</span> </em>”</p>
<p>Schofield returns the cap and places the canteen on the bed next to the tins and bouillons. He pauses, the baby starts to cry, and as the girl begins to fuss, Schofield moves.</p>
<p>He takes the cheesecloth and works quickly to fashion a serviceable bottle from his canteen. He pauses, the milk should be warmed, and moves for the fire.</p>
<p>The babe is inconsolable, and when it starts to wail, both Schofield and the girl fear it will ruin them all.</p>
<p>Schofield abandons the fire and motions for the babe. The girl hesitates to release her, and Schofield hesitates to take it when he remembers how filth-ridden his hands are. He also thinks that hands which have done such horrible things have no right to hold something so precious. But the babes crying has stirred something in Schofield, and he must act.</p>
<p>He settles, nestling the baby on his arm before gingerly tipping the canteen over; the small nipple he fashioned from the cheesecloth swells and drips, making a little mess on the babes face.</p>
<p>The little girl does not take kindly to this; she flinches in shock at the sensation and stares wide-eyed at Schofield; the look of pure scandalization on her little face almost causes him to burst with laughter. Tears well in his eyes, and he presses the wet cloth to the babe's mouth.</p>
<p>It's all the incentive the tiny being needs, and she feeds greedily; the cheesecloth is a formidable adversary for one so small. </p>
<p>“<em> <span>Vou saves des enfants. . .</span> </em>" The woman says, watching him intently, a smile radiating warmth crosses her face.</p>
<p>Schofield does not answer and takes a moment to pull the canteen away, he moves with practiced ease to burp the babe, and he is glad when she doesn’t spit up on his back.</p>
<p>A noise from outside makes the man cringe; it is not loud, but it forces the pain in his head back to the forefront, and it takes him a moment to parse what the sound is as it echoes and repeats.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>la cloche de l’edlise.</span> </em>" the woman says in a calming tone; she reaches for the babe, and Schofield doesn’t resist, though he misses the warmth terribly. “<em> <span>c’est le matin.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>Schofield flinches at her words, panic seeping into his being as the bell rings again and again.</p>
<p>“Three, four.” He whispers, his eyes washing over the girl and the baby; his fright must be evident on his face because the girl watches him with dawning horror.</p>
<p>“Five. . . “Schofield's heart sinks – dread welling up in him.</p>
<p>Six. . .</p>
<p>Schofield closes his eyes and waits- he listens intently as the last toll echoes into silence, and he deflates with relief.</p>
<p>He quickly moves to stand, leaving most of his kit on the ground as he reaches for his rifle. He moves too swiftly and sways as his head thrums in pain.</p>
<p>The girl stands as well, desperation and dread weighing on her tiny voice.</p>
<p>“<em> <span>Le jour. Les soldats vont vous voir... They see you. Il fera jour.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>She pleads with him and Schofield cannot look at her as he moves for a stairwell; his vision is improved, and the world is bigger again; it’s the only reason he can see the girl as she follows him to the edge of the room. “<em> <span>Vous devriez attendre.</span> </em>”</p>
<p>He takes the first step up; his chest is tearing to pieces.</p>
<p>“Stay. Stay. Please.”</p>
<p>He stops, a stone drops in his stomach, and he had to lean into the wall for strength. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he turns back.</p>
<p>She is staring at him, desperate, clinging to the baby – he is the best hope they have to survive, and he should stay – he <em>could</em> stay<em>. </em></p>
<p>It is almost dawn, time is nearly out, and Erinmore’s letter was lost with Blake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, Blake. . . </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sways as grief washes over him; even if he reached the Devon’s, if he found Mackenzie, no Officer would listen to him without the letter, then Blakes brother and sixteen hundred men will walk into a slaughterhouse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t,” he says, and his voice is a small whimper. He has to try; he <em>must</em> at least try.  He takes one last look at the babe, and a shiver runs through him. “I-I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>He wishes there was more to say, but there simply isn’t. He turns away and climbs the stairs walking back into the fire washed town with his head hung low.</p>
<p>Schofield stamps down his anguish as he makes his way down the block; each footstep further from that place is like a knife in his heart. He can only hope and pray that they can survive this ordeal. So distracted is he that Schofield wanders from street to street, almost aimless. He misses the sounds of a scuffle nearby, he sounds of footfalls coming for him – and he is not snapped from his stupor until something quite literally runs straight into him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shock brings out something violent in Schofield; his gun is trapped between him and the body of the stranger, so he lashes out with his hands, pushing the person back. But he doesn’t let them get away; he sees a dark form, someone shorter than he, as his hands sink into the fabric covering them. It's too soft to be a man's uniform, but Schofield doesn’t think about it. And he throws his assailant to the ground with all his might, the sound they make to fair to be a man’s, but he ignores it. Leaving nothing to chance, Schofield descends on the other; one hand crashes over their throat as his free hand moves for his bayonet. He would make it fast; he could make quiet.</p>
<p>But the skin is soft and small beneath his hand- something is wrong, and the pieces start to fall into place as he blinks the madness back, and he finally sees.</p>
<p>“Oh no. . .” he breaths, retracting his hand and standing as if pulled by invisible strings. He looks at the shadow from beneath him, and in the darkness, he can make out the greys of a woman's dress and the red of a tippet.</p>
<p>Impossible, it’s impossible.</p>
<p>She cannot be here. . .</p>
<p>They left the nurse with Captain Smith this can’t-</p>
<p>The woman is coughing, sputtering, and making too much noise – Schofield kneels again, putting his hands on either side of the nurse's face, and he sees the white around her head, the swelling around her injured eye. His stomach churns, and he chokes back a sob at his actions.</p>
<p>“Gale. . .”</p>
<p>The woman makes a small noise, and an audacious smile makes its way across her face.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Follow: <a href="#section0005">Gale </a> </p>
<p>Follow: <a href="#section0007">Blake</a></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Blakes breathing and footfalls seem far too loud despite every effort he put into keeping quiet. When he snuck out from the lock house, he did not cower in the corners, figuring; if he were a German soldier, he wouldn't bother.</p>
<p>The night was young, with the last vestiges of sunlight painting the skies with streaks of dark blues and purples. But that light and color were far away, and in the streets of Ecoust, the darkness was thick.</p>
<p>Blake kept his mind focused on where he needed to go, to the bridge across town, and along the river, which lead to Croisilles Wood.</p>
<p>Several blocks were separating Blake from that bridge, and he hoped desperately that he would be able to make it there without incident.</p>
<p>With every footstep, the fear in his heart abated slightly. The town was silent, but it had been that way before the sniper opened fire on them and the Bosch shot up Captain Smiths caravan. . .</p>
<p>Blake paused at a street corner, a large intersection made of older cobbles.</p>
<p>Ecoust was an ancient place, a Roman place; its streets are a grid making it easy enough to navigate. Its main roads are double wide and made of old cobbles. The buildings all hewn from stone; as Blake got closer to the main street, which ran from north to south, the buildings became more massive and more ornate, or at least- they were once ornate, now every fleck of plaster, concrete, and glass lay buried under layers of brick and stone.</p>
<p>He pauses at the intersection. A wide span of open space meets him. The center of town rested somewhere off to his right; all the roads congregated to the cities heart, all centered around a big cathedral and the town's forum.</p>
<p>He didn't pay it much mind because it was in the wrong direction.</p>
<p>He leaned against the corner of one building and closed his eyes, straining his ears to listen for any sounds that would tell him if there were Germans around the corner. And he became acutely aware of the empty space beside him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't start on that.</em>
</p>
<p>Blake flung himself around the corner, rifle snapping up as he searched for any sign of trouble.</p>
<p>Yawning darkness met him. A shallow but massive crater has carved itself into the street. Incredible piles of shattered buildings block the road with the scent of death wafting out from the impromptu graves.<br/>
The image was haunting, and Blake had to wrench himself from it when he found his feet drawn towards the desolation.</p>
<p>He took in a sharp breath and wheeled around, pointing his gun in the other direction as he started to sidestep his way across the open space.<br/>
He didn't see anyone; he didn't hear anyone. In the dying light, he can see the towering form of Ecoust's cathedral.</p>
<p>Once he reached the other end of the street, he started to move faster, keeping lower to the ground and no longer trying to look casual. He's traveled nearly half a block when he spots a small alley, which looked like nothing more than a small line of black running behind a wedge-shaped building. He moves to it, ducking into the smaller, darker space. He pauses inside the shadows and leans heavily against the wall.</p>
<p>He isn't tired- but his chest is heaving; his heart is thundering in his chest, and he feels far too warm for the work he's been doing. Slight tremors run through him as if he were cold, and Blake can't determine if it's his nerves or something else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake shuffled along, eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. He paused at the mouth of the alley, the buildings at this end of town were mostly fallen in on themselves, and the smell of charred wood seemed stronger here.</p>
<p>Was it artillery? Or had the Boche burned the buildings here as they had done all over the countryside?</p>
<p>He spots the road, and the bridge, losing a nervous sigh Blake continues to look around- there is a lot of open space between him and his goal. Taking several deep breaths, Blake makes sure his gun is ready, and he creeps into the street. Whatever buildings were supposed to be here had been cleared away-</p>
<p>Overhead the first silver tendrils of moonlight are coloring the skies; weak shadows begin to form on the streets.</p>
<p>This did his nerves no favors, and the young man almost jumps from his skin when he hears a tinkling sound echo across the streets. He looks around rapidly, and all of a sudden, the city seems far too bright-</p>
<p>He brings his gun up as he searches for the source of a noise, which sounded far too much like a coin hitting stone.</p>
<p>All of the world goes still as Blake strains his ears and eyes, his hand wanders for his torch but dared not ignite it. The black forms of broken buildings barely stand out from the dark skies. He can't see any lights- <em>no</em> – there is something.</p>
<p>Small distant pinpoints of orange light spill out from windows on a building at the head of the next block. Squinting, Blake thinks he can see a sign jutting out over the sidewalk; there are benches and balcony's on the sides of the -<em>someone's there</em>.</p>
<p>A shadow passes in front of a boarded window on the second floor. There is a brief pulse of light from a cigarette that clashes against the darkness that surrounds it.</p>
<p>Blake goes cold and starts to backpedal, but the shadow <em>moves</em>. It's slow, almost imperceptible and Blake's breath hitches.</p>
<p>He sees the flash before he hears it's fire – Blake flinches his body, twisting towards the light and</p>
<p>CRACK!</p>
<p>The bullet slaps into the cobbles just behind him, and Blake fires his rifle in retaliation – his bullet pings loudly and sparks against the metal of the balcony.</p>
<p>There is a loud and pained shout.</p>
<p>Blake rechambers his rifle, turns tail, and runs.</p>
<p>Behind him, he hears a crash- a door bursting open- and in its echoes, the sound of footfalls quickly bounce around the streets.</p>
<p>The Bosch shout, and Blake runs as fast as possible, but his knee suddenly collides with something concrete, and he falls forward. His chest slams into a pile of bricks, and all of his breath leaves him in a painful heave.</p>
<p>CRACK!</p>
<p>Blake feels a jolt run through him as another bullet slams into a pile of debris beside him, and tiny stones from its impact pelt him. He scrambles from the bank of the rubble, rolling until he finds solid ground. He scrambles for purchase, struggling to get to his feet at the Germans get closer.</p>
<p>"Come on!" he barks, his gait is broken by limping, and Blake is sure the burning in his knee is blood.</p>
<p>But Gales medicines and his panic holds back most of the pain.</p>
<p>Another bullet chases him, whizzing close enough that he feels it in his ear as a second slaps into the ground where he was standing. His boots find the cobbles, and tries his hardest to run <em>faster.</em></p>
<p>Blake couldn't see anything in front of him, he only dared to turn on his torch for a couple of seconds at a time, and every time he did, bullets chased him. He cleared the bridge and tried to follow the road, listening to his footfalls to guide him.</p>
<p>He heard a strange noise behind him, like gunfire, but all at once, the world was lit again.</p>
<p>
  <em>A flare. </em>
</p>
<p>The sudden light almost blinded Blake, and he stumbles at the assault on his eyes. A stark world of black and white is now in front of him, with a hail of bullets biting at his heels.</p>
<p>He could see the smooth surface of the road as it snaked away from Ecoust and eventually turned to follow the river with a stand of bushes and small trees standing inside the curve.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The light lowered and soon sizzled, leaving Blake in darkness again; he felt himself speeding, he needed to reach the tree's, only the trees would save him.</p>
<p>His legs are crashing through bushes; it slows him considerably, but he pushes on, and in an instant, his feet are hitting uneven stone.</p>
<p>It takes several steps for him to realize that the rough stone is not the road, and by that time, it is too late, as one foot meets open air, and he begins to fall forward. Blake tries to pull himself back, landing on his bottom as he's dragged down. He struggles not to cry out as he's made weightless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is not a long fall, but he lands harshly on staggard ground. His legs give out beneath him, and whatever pained sound he was going to make is cut short when his head strikes the rocks, he tumbles.<br/>
Something catches on his kit, the sudden stop tearing his strap loose before he can get his feet beneath him, the ground is all loose stone of varying sizes, there is nothing for him to grab, but he is stopped when his back strikes something much larger and more solid. The breath is knocked from him, and Blake stills- stunned. There is a sudden and loud splashing sound as something is ripped from his kit falls into the river below.</p>
<p>A flare lashes into the sky, and Blake stares as it's light pours through tangled branches and roots, which cover most of the steep and rocky crags of a massive washout.</p>
<p>Blakes vision is swimming as the light passes overhead; he leans back and discovers that his helmet is gone. He can recognize the rough feel of tree bark on the back of his skull as his eyes slipped closed and his hold on the world slips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake is roused again by cold water dripping on his face. He shivered and tried to make sense of where he was. Thick darkness greeted him, the moon was gone, and small droplets of water fall into his eyes.</p>
<p>Cold.</p>
<p>He's so cold. It feels as though he's been covered in a blanket of ice.</p>
<p>Pain.</p>
<p>The realization of it makes the ache worse, and Blake makes a weak sound in his throat as new hurts mingle with the old ones.</p>
<p>But there was nothing for it, there was someplace Blake needed to be, and he needed to get there in a hurry- the reminder sends a small wave of fire through him, and Blake brings up his watch, the luminescent paint shone just bright enough for him to see the time - half past the stroke of twelve.</p>
<p>His time was growing thin. </p>
<p>Blake dragged himself into a sitting position, the motion jostling his leg and sends waves of agony ripping up his body. He hisses and tries to push past the discomfort by looking around. To one side was the roaring river and, on the other, the steep incline of a washout.</p>
<p>Gritting his teeth, Blake reached for his torch and dared to turn on the light for a moment. He looked at the strange stair-like rocks in front of him before casting himself back into darkness.</p>
<p>It took a considerable amount of effort for Blake to drag himself over the stair-like rocks and back up the washout. He fights to make his numbed hands grip the wet stones and the water rushing down the washout soaks him to the bone. He’s never been in such pain his whole life; Blake clenches his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache as every movement sent agony ripping through his body.</p>
<p>But in time, he found his hands wrapping around the stems of bushes, and he was met with the new task of dragging himself through the underbrush.</p>
<p>He became aware of his kit being lighter, and he wondered what exactly came loose from his webbing.</p>
<p>But a quick search of his person discovered that the all-important letter was still safely tucked in his leather folder, unharmed. </p>
<p>From his hip to the tips of his toes. Blake’s leg is filled to the brim with pain and stiffness. He did not dare to try standing. Blake continued to drag himself forward until the bushes thinned. He let out a wheezing sigh and rested his head on the cool grass.</p>
<p>Light rain fell upon him, caressing his neck with icy fingers that jabbed cold into his very bones. His breath was likely making clouds of mist in the cold air, but the coming of rain deprived Blake of the moonlight, and he couldn't even see the grass which tickled his nose.</p>
<p>He needed to turn on his torch again and find the tree line.</p>
<p>Blake propped himself up on his elbows and looked around, listening.</p>
<p>There was only the roar of the waterfall, which blessedly covered the sound of Blake's struggles. No more flares flew into the air, and maybe, just maybe, most of the Germans had decided to turn in for the night.</p>
<p>Blake dared, he brought up his torch and shined it straight up into the air before shifting it in a quick swipe around him. A couple of seconds to look around, and he flicked the light off again. The illuminated bark of tree trunks burned into his eyes as he started to drag himself forward. </p>
<p>He reached the trees without incident, but the pain in his leg was growing. The flesh was torn open again; he's sure he could feel the dressings about his wounds pull from where they were stuck onto his skin. And a gentle prod brought back sticky blood on his fingertips.</p>
<p>Dragging himself further into the weak beginnings of the forest, Blake chooses a tree arbitrarily and grit his teeth again. With a shuttering huff, Blake pulled himself up and accidentally placed some weight on his injured leg.</p>
<p>The pain pulsed like a second blow, and he couldn't stop the gasp that escaped him. He collapses against the tree, scraping his head down its bark as he crumples – there is copper in his mouth from biting on his tongue too harshly, a sob hisses passed his clenched jaw. Blake can do nothing for a long time, his world shrinking to be nothing more than the drumming pain and his attempts to breathe. Hot tears roll down his face then rapidly cool, adding to his misery.</p>
<p>"None of that now." He hisses, parroting the words his Mum would always say when he or Joe would throw a hissy. To busy his mind: Blake turned to look at his compass. Trying to get his bearings.</p>
<p>It would be difficult to reach Devon's now, but he had to. There was no one else left who could do this. Clenching his jaw again, Blake hauled himself back up to his feet- pain bounced freely through his frame, and he growled at it in frustration. He needs to get moving, pain, or no.</p>
<p>Blake turned his head, hand striking out as he pushed from the tree and moved in the direction that should lead him to his brother. Something sick and nagging crawled into the back of Blake's mind, sinking its horrible teeth there and injecting him with some form of venom.</p>
<p>Images of Joe being torn to pieces by machine-gun fire and shells. Schofield, bleeding, dying alone in the cold darkness. Gale, injured and frail, being left in a town crawling with Germans. Blake tried to push these things away, but they came back like water flowing from a stream. They terrified him.</p>
<p>But more than that- the images fueled him.</p>
<p>Sheer determination pushed Blake forward, through the pain and the cold and the quickly gathering fatigue he pressed on- stumbling on the wet ground, falling over all manner of things, and each time, he got up again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He should have known that all of his rustling about would garner unwanted attention. He’s deep in the forest, pushing himself to the south, and more than once he could have sworn, he caught the echoes of voices or the scent of smoke wafting low through the trees.</p>
<p>His eyes might be playing tricks on him, but there are times when it seems there is light rising from somewhere ahead of him. The trees are large, and the underbrush is thin; Blake can almost feel the forest reaching its end - he must be close, and the hope it gives him narrows his view, and he misses the form of a man peeking out from behind one of the larger trees.</p>
<p>He also misses the sudden downturn in the earth that twists his injured leg and sends him sprawling onto the ground. Before Blake has the chance to begin recovering, a light descends on him.</p>
<p>Blake rips his head up from the grass; he can only see the glint of rifle barrel jutting from the torchlight. Panic rips Blake off the ground with strength he wished he'd had moments before; the man with the light makes a startled noise as Blake stumbles back, wiping his gun up with fumbling hands.</p>
<p>The young man flops onto the ground with a thud, and the pain it brings makes Blake shout, his hands leaving his gun to clutch his leg. Blood oozes between his fingers, thick and cold, with a rush of heat following a new pulse of pain.</p>
<p>The world around him spins, and the moment his eyes close, Blake feels a mighty tug on his person, some invisible hand pulling him towards oblivion.</p>
<p>He hears a curse fly out from over his head, and something about it forces his mind to churn.</p>
<p>English – the voice was speaking English.</p>
<p>Blake’s world turns red as the stranger’s light washes over him.</p>
<p>"Come on, lad,” the voice calls, and a hand grabs Blake’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. The younger man groans and tries to pull his eyes open again, and its. . . Blakes never had a more challenging time doing something so simple.</p>
<p>"Surreys, what in the blazes are you doing out here?"</p>
<p>Blake manages to wrench his eyes open, and he looks at the man. It takes him a moment to find his words, fright, and hope all mingling together in his chest.</p>
<p>“The Devons. . .” he starts forcing himself to sit up, he reaches for his front pocket, his eyes are swimming, and he's suddenly lightheaded. “I have to reach. . . the Second. . .”</p>
<p>The man makes a noise and shuffles about, helping to brace Blake up.</p>
<p>"Good for you then, We're the Second.' the man announces, offering a hand. "Private Asher, B Company." he introduces himself, and Blake notes the man hails from Cornwall.</p>
<p>"I've got a message for Colonel Mackenzie," Blake concludes, dragging the letter up from the envelope, and the man stills behind him before pointing his torch at the letter.</p>
<p>Its gotten wet from the rain, but its bright red seal is untouched, and its words still legible, and it makes the man's breath hitch.</p>
<p>"From Army Command." the man murmurs; there is a long moment of quiet, and the man releases an extensive sigh. "Right, let’s get you up, the billets aren't far - and try to be quiet about it," he warns as he pulls Blake up from the ground.</p>
<p>"We must find my sergeant." the man mutters as Blake tries to stifle a pained howl. "Need to find someone else to take my watch - tell me." the man says, beginning to sound panicked. He pauses suddenly. "There are Germans about, aren't there?"</p>
<p>Blake licks his lips and nods but then realizes that the man can't see it.</p>
<p>"There are," he mutters, and the man makes a small noise.</p>
<p>"And they're in Ecoust?" Blake is quite a moment as the man helps pull him towards a small valley in the forest; there is a little light rising from a tent formed from felled trees.</p>
<p>"Yes," he confirms.</p>
<p> Silence reigns as Private Asher pulls Blake into a small billet where a Sergeant and Lieutenant were shocked into standing by their sudden appearance.</p>
<p>"By God, Private, what is this!" The Lieutenant barks, looking at Blake as Asher sputters out a quick 'Sir' and salute at the man. But Blake's lost his helmet, and he makes do with standing as straight as he can manage.</p>
<p>"Lance Corporal Blake, sir."</p>
<p>"Blake," mumbles the Lieutenant, a blonde man with a look a recognition flickering over his face.</p>
<p>"A Carrier." the Sergeant steps forward, "Is there news?"</p>
<p>Blake nods, but it makes his knees buckle, and Private Asher struggles to keep him up.</p>
<p>“He says he needs to speak to Colonel Mackenzie,” Asher states, struggling as the Lieutenant moves to help them.</p>
<p>“Very well.” Says the man helping Blake up. “You get back to your post Asher; I will take things from here.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure Lieutenant Richards?” asks the Sergeant looking at the young man, “Wouldn’t it be best for me to-“</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Richards says, taking a moment to brace up Blake. “I’m better for dealing with Mackenzie than you, especially if he’s turned in for the night.” There was a momentary pause as Richards adjusted his hat. “I'm not supposed to be out here anyway." The Sergeant nods and belatedly move in front of the bottle of whiskey the two had been sharing to 'ward off the cold.'</p>
<p>"If MacKenzie has turned in, then we can only hope the Major is still about." the sergeant remarks offhandedly.</p>
<p>"Quite right Langlade," Richards quips, waving Asher off, "Though I would hope most of the Senior staff would be resting on the eve of our big day. . ."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blake makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Are these men discussing things like that while he’s stood about bleeding all over the place.</p>
<p>And yes, in the light of the shelter, Blake can see that his wounds have been seeping blood for some time, his leg is painted almost wholly red. Even his putties are stained, it is a disturbing amount of blood, and he feels the most unholy combination of cold fever and lightheadedness. The small amount of warmth in the shelter was heaven-sent for Blake, and he is soon to discover a whole new level of fatigue.</p>
<p>“Keep on, lad, you're almost done.” Announces Richards, leading him from the shelter and back outside. The cold rush is almost a slap, and Blake is embarrassed at leaning too heavily into the Lieutenant. Certainly, he’s going to get blood on his uniform.</p>
<p>“Jesus, you look just like your brother.” Says the man as they clear the forest.</p>
<p>It takes Blake a moment to register what the Lieutenant said.</p>
<p>“You know Joe?” he mumbles, his eyes scanning over a village of billets as they descend the hill. The forest ends, and they are in the camp. Richards hums and mutters about if he should rouse Joe since they were all supposed to be resting for the morning.</p>
<p>Blake is losing his strength fast, and by the time they make it to the officers' billet, Richards is dragging him more than he’s been walking. </p>
<p>There are two orderlies outside, watching them in silence, and they look none too pleased to see Richards dragging an injured man to the tent.</p>
<p>"Lieutenant?" one of them calls, stepping forward and bringing the pair to a halt.</p>
<p>"Byrne." Richards returns in kind with a small nod. The man, Byrne, raises a brow, and his eyes move to study Blake.</p>
<p>"Where'd you find this chap?" Byrne's dark eyes fall on Blakes Lapels, and his expression becomes more inquisitive. "This is the Officers tent, not the Clearing Station." the orderly is strangely smug, and Blake gives the other man a desperate look. The Second Orderly has a much more troubled expression on his face, but he too stands resolutely in their way.</p>
<p>Richards makes a small noise in the back of his throat and draws himself to his full height.</p>
<p>"Never you mind that, Corporal." he hisses, and Blake can tell there is some level of animosity between them.  "This young man has an urgent message for the Colonel."</p>
<p>The orderly looks over Blake with a frown then nods before opening his hand. Richards makes a small noise of annoyance and struggles to pull his pistol loose with one hand; he shoves it at Byrne and makes a face that orders, more than asks, the Orderly to step aside.</p>
<p>The men part, dragging the tent open as they go, and Richards helps Blake inside, there is a small rush of warmth.</p>
<p>A large paraffin lamp hangs from a hook in the center of the tent, lighting quite a thrum of activity as various officers mill about inside.</p>
<p>There are tables along the walls covered in papers and maps. Engineers and communications officers are milling about telegram and coding machines, hooking up the equipment to wires that run under the canvas and outside, what they plan to connect them to, Blake can only guess.</p>
<p>In the center of the tent, three large tables are laid out in a square shape; in the middle of them, space is filled with the Senior Officers, they pour over a plethora of things scattered around the tables. A large map of the region is spread out on one, with models of the battalion and what they've observed of the German Line.</p>
<p>There are more orderlies over in the corners, and they are the first to react to Richards and the stranger's appearance. The Colonel's batman sees them too and leans over and making a quiet summons to the dark-haired man.</p>
<p>Mackenzie whirls around in a swift motion; Blake feels Richards go ramrod straight as the older man’s steely eyes fall on the two of them, and Blake struggles to straighten himself out. He's broken out in a sweat and imagines that he looks very haggard indeed, not fit to be seen by a man who is immaculately turned out in his full regalia despite the late hour.</p>
<p>"Lieutenant Richards." Mackenzie drawls out, the tent falling to silence as the other officers take notice of the men. Richards gives a crisp salute as the Colonel takes a few steps closer to them.</p>
<p>"Who the hell is this?" the man asks, eyeing Blake as if he were some kind of insect. Blake flinches and raises his hand to salute; the motion is choppy as he realizes his mistake a moment too late.</p>
<p>"Lance Corporal Blake - Eighth East S-Surrey's sir."</p>
<p>Mackenzie’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing, giving the young man an expectant look.</p>
<p>It takes Blake a moment to understand; he coughs out a brief ‘oh’ and fumbles for the letter.</p>
<p>“General Erinmore s-sent us.” Blake starts, his shaking is getting worse, and he doesn’t know if its from weakness, nerves or cold, “Orders for tomorrow's attack.”</p>
<p>“We are not withdrawing.” MacKenzie declares, and Blake pauses, his head snapping up to look at the man in shock.</p>
<p>“But Sir-“</p>
<p>MacKenzie takes a step forward, a rueful smirk splitting his face.</p>
<p>“We are less than 500 yards from the Germans – the men are digging in as we speak, everything is ready for the assault – we cannot stop now.” He explains his gaze moving over Blake to look out at the field's narrow view outside.</p>
<p>“Sir-.” Blake starts again, trying to put force behind his words but finding only desperation. “These are from Army Command; you have to read them.”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard they’re excuses before.” The man bites back, bitterness dripping from his tone, “We are not waiting till dusk or for fog- ”</p>
<p>“Colonel.” Cough Blake, aware that he’s nearly falling to pieces, but the older man only turns away.</p>
<p>Blake looks around the tent, at the other officers in the faint hope that any of them would speak up, that at least one of them would challenge the Colonel, but aside from a Major looking mildly distressed, no one moves.</p>
<p>“I will not withdraw my men only to send them back out the following day, not when we have them on the run.”</p>
<p>“You don’t!” snaps Blake, his voice is shrill, and he wavers on his feet – the way MacKenzie turns back to him tells Blake that he’s made a mistake, but the younger man won’t be interrupted again.</p>
<p>“The Germans are drawing you into a trap- they’ve been planning this for months!” He prattles on waggling the letter in his hand despite the growing anger on Mackenzie’s face. “It’s all here- <em>so read the bloody letter!</em>”</p>
<p>Silence fills the tent, and Blake stares at the Colonel- he didn’t go through all of that hell, almost dying half a dozen times, to have someone else fail his mission for him.<br/>
Mackenzie is indignant, he stares down at Blake with a glare that could crumble stone, and there is a long silence as the Officer slowly moves closer to Blake.</p>
<p>The man's eyes don’t leave Blake, and the young man starts to wither beneath the glare. Mackenzie snatches Blake's letter with one quick motion; there is another pause, and Blake wonders if the Colonel is debating if he should read the message or set it alight. But after a moment that feels like hours, MacKenzie starts to open the envelope.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The rustling of paper is the only sound in the tent, and the dread is heavy. Finally, Colonel MacKenzie looks at the report and stares at it, his whole frame stills.</p>
<p>The man is impassive as he pulls the aerials from the envelope. He wordlessly hands the photographs to the Major as he scans Erinmores letter. Blake almost feels for the man as he sees the Colonel battle with this new information.</p>
<p>Just as the silence was starting to become concerning, MacKenzie’s head snaps up from the letter, and he shoves it a Hepburn.</p>
<p>The Colonel's steely eyes fall back on Blake a fresh look of. . . understanding on his face before his eyes flicker to Lieutenant Richards.</p>
<p>“Summon the Captains – bring them here immediately.” He orders, snapping around and returning to the table. Hepburn is pouring over the letter a much more stricken look on his face; the shorter man has visible paled and looks to the Colonel with an expression nearing desperation.</p>
<p>“Sir.” Chirps Richards, giving a salute, but he pauses, his eyes moving over Blake a moment. “And what of Lance Corporal Blake, sir?”</p>
<p>“Have one of the orderlies take him to the medical tents.” Mackenzie drawls, his attention falling on the map. “No.”</p>
<p>He holds up a hand, “Summon Doctor Monroe as well- “Mackenzie looks at Hepburn. “We will need to move the Causality Clearing station.”</p>
<p>“Of course, sir – and the billets,” Hepburn adds with a nod.</p>
<p>“The billets will have to wait- I’ll order A and C Company’s to dig in while B and D Company’s. . .”</p>
<p>Blake is distracted as Richards pulls away and summons one of the orderlies outside. And in the moment, he is left to support himself; a thought rips itself to the forefront of his mind: there’s something he’s forgotten.</p>
<p>“Colonel Sir.” He coughs, lurching forward just slightly, the movement making Mackenzie snap around to face him like a startled animal. “Sir, about Ecoust.” Blake starts again, looking at the man pleadingly.</p>
<p>“I imagine Germans are sneaking about,” Mackenzie says, uninterested.</p>
<p>Blake nods and stands straighter as an orderly puts his hands around Blake's arm.</p>
<p>“yes sir, and I-“</p>
<p>“We will have to put a patrol together later; its no concern of yours.” The Colonel intercedes before turning his attention to the Orderly. “Make sure his wounds are tended.”</p>
<p>Blake almost huffs as the man insists on interrupting him.</p>
<p>“Sir,” he starts once more at the end of his patients, “I wasn’t sent alone.”</p>
<p>Mackenzie looks back at Blake and scans him once more; there is the smallest flicker of pity in his gaze.</p>
<p>“I’d imagine not- take him to the clearing station.” He demands of the orderly before dismissing them with a flick of his wrist.</p>
<p>“But Sir- “</p>
<p>“Come on.” Hisses the orderly, all but shoving Blake back out of the tent.</p>
<p>Panic manages to bubble its way up from Blakes lethargy, and as he’s plunged into the cold night air again, the young man finds some strength to pull back against the orderly.</p>
<p>“No, you don’t understand- wait.” His voice is cracking, and he feels tears well in his eyes – there is still something he must do, but he’s too feeble to make the Orderly <em>listen.</em> Was everyone in the Second so obnoxious? “I have to go back.” Blake continues, his vision is wavering, and he feels. . . light. As though he were floating on the sea. He hears the Orderly grunt out some short words, and Blake feels the hold on him changing; the young man is hit with a wave of nausea and it brings both his mind and body to a halt. He doesn’t wretch, nor does he lose his stomach, but the episode makes his head spin and <em>Oh Lord- was this what Gale’s been going through?</em></p>
<p>Gale. . . <em>Scho</em></p>
<p>Blake had to pull himself together; he wasn’t done yet. But his strength is spent, the young man can’t even stand now, and he’s so delirious that he hardly notices when he’s being lifted onto a cot.</p>
<p>“Wait. . .”</p>
<p>There are more people around him, but he can’t make them out – he’s <em>tired</em>. So horrendously tired.</p>
<p>“Scho needs…”  </p>
<p>He’s pawing at someone as his body settles onto the cot its little more than a span of canvas and pillow, but its softer than anything he’s slept on in months and he’s unconscious before the orderly has his kit loose.</p><hr/>
<p>Follow: <a href="#section0006">Schofield</a></p>
<p>Follow:<a href="#section0005"> Gale </a></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When he first regains his senses, Blake feels like he’s floating, It’s dizzying, and he feels like he’s set adrift in a sea of ice.</p><p>There are hands on him, ghostly touches that burn his chilled skin. They wash in and out of his awareness in painful waves.</p><p>He feels a slight sting, something biting into his arm, and from it, a warmth spreads in his veins, washing the pain away and sending him back to oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>The next wave of sensation comes an immeasurable amount of time later – he is still cold, so cold. But he feels…flushed, both hot and chilled all at once, and his breathing is labored – these things trickle to him, one after the other as if his mind can only handle one at a time. There is a warm weight against his uninjured side; the heat seeping into him slowly.</p><p>Myrtle?</p><p>Tom moves his hand, searching for the Setters warm fur. He expected to hear her soft, whoof of greeting, the enthusiastic beating of her tail on his leg as she perks up to lavish him with sloppy kisses. The same she always did when he caught her snoozing on the bed.</p><p>But instead, another hand takes his, gliding under his palm and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. It’s not what he was expecting, but he doesn’t think on it as the effort of doing so is too great, and he lets himself drift back into oblivion.</p><p> </p><p>Blake isn’t sure where he is: all he knows is that when he wakes up, the sight of a white marquee is not what he was expecting to see: It should have been the plaster ceilings- the dark woods and the rich red wall-paper of his bedroom. Mother should be bringing him a hot cup of beef tea.</p><p>He grunts, trying to sit up, and he feels woozy for it. Sinking back down, he realizes two things – the air around him is cold, and the bed is warm.  Its . . . nice.<br/>
But Myrtle doesn’t stir, and her warmth is lesser than it was before. This is concerning enough that Blake finds the strength to move his arm. His fingers splay over the spot where his pup should be. But he finds nothing but a warm, malleable lump under his blankets. If shifts and sloshes under his slight prodding. In the deeper reaches of his mind, Blakes knows what the thing is.</p><p> Blake releases a small sigh and closes his eyes, sleep pulls at him, but a stirring in his mind keeps it at bay.</p><p>There is a faint memory, a cold pressure on his shoulder, tears on his face -<em> Water.</em></p><p>A noise like a growl leaves Blake, and he lifts his head again- why is he so bloody thirsty? He couldn’t recall when he’d last had a sip of water – and when did he get put into a tent, to begin with? Last he could remember –</p><p>“Tom!”</p><p>Blake barks out a startled noise, jostling in his spot as hands descend on him. It’s still dark, and it takes him a moment to make sense of what’s going on around him. He feels a tug on one leg, and pain explodes from it in a rush of fire that makes him flop back onto the cot with a strangled noise.</p><p>The person above him curses and presses Tom into the warm blankets more firmly.</p><p>“Shit, Tom- sorry.”</p><p>Wait. . .</p><p>Tom opens his eyes, and through the pained tears, he sees –</p><p>“Joe. . .”</p><p>Tom stills in his spot, and he blinks at the shadowy form of his brother.</p><p>Joseph is hovering over him, and Tom can’t see his face on account of the darkness, but that doesn’t matter because -because Joe is <em>here</em> and he’s safe, and Tom finished his mission and-and</p><p>“<em>Joe!”</em></p><p>Tom reaches for his brother, a sob cutting his words as he falls to pieces right on the spot. He needn’t wait – as Joe gathers him up in his arms and, rather haphazardly, draws Tom into a crushing embrace. It’s a difficult thing to do since Tom can’t seem to move his leg, and he’s – he’s still <em>so tired</em>.</p><p>“Easy.” Coos Joseph, who is trying desperately to rein in his own tears, “It’s alright now.” He says, pulling away and gently guiding Tom back to the cot. He runs his hand through Tom’s hair repeatedly, the way their father once did, the way their mother still does – it makes Tom feel small, but he is grateful for it.</p><p>The two of them stare at one another a long moment before Joe dips his head down and lets out a breathy chuckle.</p><p>“You’re a right mess, Tom.” He says, shaking his head and taking Tom’s hand, giving it a good squeeze.</p><p>Tom chuckles briefly and tries sitting up, but again, his leg refuses to move, and it's <em>annoying</em>. He lifts his head and feels Joe squeeze his hand tighter as the younger Blake looks down.</p><p>There are odd lumps beneath the blanket, and the pain is growing as Tom tries moving around. Finally. he reaches his free hand over the blanket to shove the thing aside; he hesitates only a moment to look at Joe, but the older Blake is only looking at Tom’s leg, and his expression is hidden in shadow.</p><p>Tom can’t figure out if that’s a good sign or not.</p><p>He pulls the blanket aside and sucks in a quick breath – part of that is from the cold, as he wasn’t expecting to find himself in not but his skivvies. But then there was also the . . . contraption that’s trapped his leg in the most uncomfortably straight position.  The wound on his thigh is wrapped firmly, and there is a large pad of gauze taped over the wound in his hip – not Butler's work, but something much more professionally done. His hand drifts up to gently prod at a similar bandage covering the cut on his cheek.</p><p>The pain isn’t so bad, it’s there, but the edges have been worn away either by morphine or Tom’s own exhaustion. It all falls into place now – he is with Joe, with the Devon’s, and he fell. Hurting his leg – which might explain the <em>thing </em>the doctors have trapped the limb in. It is mighty uncomfortable, and Tom starts to wonder why they would do such a thing.</p><p>He must stare a moment too long because Joe leans forward to pull the blanket back to its proper place.</p><p>“The doc doesn’t know if it’s broken or not,” Joe explains slowly, scrubbing at his face with his hands. “Says they’ll have the roentgenogram ready in the - <em>Fuck!</em> - he isn’t sure if you'll make it To---“ Joe’s words are cut short with a sharp clack of teeth. He bites his lip, looking his brother in the face, and Tom can see he’s shivering just slightly.</p><p>“<em>Never </em>scare me like that again.”</p><p>Tom only blinks at his brother- it’s hard to think. The idea of his leg being. . . broken – it <em>did</em> feel horrible last night after his fall; he could recall a grinding feeling in his knee during his struggles. He shakes his head slightly and looks up at Joe; he isn’t sure what to think, what to feel, he’s just so. . . tired.</p><p>“Sorry bou’ that.” He mumbles, being drawn back to the pillows. “Had to, save yer skin ya know.” Tom tries to smile, thinking himself clever, and he can almost imagine the confusion on Joe's face as he says something so vague. He lets out something like a sigh and blinks slowly, and in that moment, sleep snatches him away.</p><p> </p><p>He drifts again, and slowly the ice that seems to have nestled under his skin is replaced by fire. It was not a slow change; the fire invaded his being with a rush, and it was this that dragged him back to consciousness.  It is still dark; there is nothing but the faint glow of a small stove; it casts dancing shadows in soft orange light on the white ceiling.</p><p>Tom feels. . . strange.</p><p>Lightheaded and dizzy, and the heat in him now feels unnatural.</p><p>It was like that one-time Scho shared with him some… whiskey? Or was it rum? Tom couldn’t recall right offhand, but it was awful. It set a fire in Tom’s insides that gave him a splitting headache and gut-rot for nearly two days after.</p><p>Bastard Scho – what did he sneak into the billets this time?</p><p>Tom can’t help but chuckle; whatever it was, it made his head spin and made him feel. . . floaty.</p><p>Yes, like he was swimming in the pond on the hottest of days when the water itself was warmed by the sun and for a moment Tom could see himself doing just that – floating about in the old mill pond that coated all that dared dip beneath its surface in a coat of slimy green.</p><p> Oh- how Mum made a fuss when he and Myrtle came back from hunting frogs that one summer.</p><p>And how she’d come home not two weeks later with a gaggle of ducks, who were all too happy to gobble up every last scrap of grime from that pond – but that only served to make it an even more popular swimming hole for the boys and their mates.</p><p>Tom giggles again and tries to imagine himself back then – it wasn’t. . . it wasn’t so long ago, he thinks. Myrtle was a pup still but big enough to follow him about on his adventures.</p><p>“What’s so funny little brother?”</p><p>“Joe?” mumbles Tom, nose wrinkling.</p><p>That was odd; Scho was usually the one to ask him such things. . . maybe Joe was a better drinker, and Scho was sleeping off his loss elsewhere: Tom knew that it would be a Blake to best him.  </p><p>“Tom?”</p><p>“I’m--m thinkin’,” Tom murmurs moving his head towards the sound of his brothers’ voice. “We s--hould go swimming – it’d be nice.” He slurs through his words, and each sentence is followed with a small chortle.</p><p>Joe makes a noise; it’s one of those sounds he makes in the back of his throat – but it’s not a happy thing. Tom thinks... it almost sounded like a sob.</p><p>“It’s a little…cold for swimming right now, Tommy.” He says, and Tom squints, trying to find his brother in the night, and he only sees a dark shadow that looks like him. A pout grows on his face, not just because Joe said no to his adventure, but because Joe called him <em>Tommy. </em>If anyone knows how much he hates being called th –</p><p>- <em>at’s right – Tommie’s, friends.</em></p><p><em>“</em>A pretty girl called me Tommy.” He muses, a smile growing over his scowl as he remembers.</p><p>Eyes speckled with browns and blues, brown hair, maybe black – it looked oily, skin like one of those porcelain dolls – he’d bet she would want to have a picnic by the millpond – Joe could stay here.</p><p>“What pretty girls have you been meeting in France?” Joe asks, amusement and accusation floating in his emotion choked voice. Tom feels like he’s about to be scolded, and he puffs up his cheeks.</p><p><em>That</em> brings him some pain, and it derails his mind for a long moment, but as he moves his hand to poke at the pain, his fingers touch gauze, and he remembers.</p><p>“She pu- on this!”  he chirps, triumphant. “You’d like ‘er’ Joe.” He says, smiling as his eyes close and the visage of dancing cherry blossoms float in his head.<br/>
He tells Joe about the pretty girl whose mum grows apples and who’s da raises passels and cows <em>and </em>- Tom needed to learn what a passel was – just like he needed to try this Apple Butter nonsense. Maybe he could ask Joe – but not right now. Instead, Tom tells Joe the story – stunted and jumbled as it is. Of when she tried taking off his puttee’s.</p><p>“She didn like Gra’ma’s knittin’.” He concludes his nose wrinkling again, and he thinks: maybe the pretty girl isn’t so nice after all: <em>Everyone like Gramma’s knitting.</em></p><p>“A nurse.”</p><p>Tom hums in the affirmative and nods – but this a mistake, as it makes his stomach jump and the spinning in his head becomes decidedly less enjoyable.</p><p>“Tom, we don’t have any nurses with us.” Joe declares as if this is supposed to prove Tom wrong somehow. The younger Blake grunts and forces himself to open his eyes to look at Joe before he scans the marquee around them.</p><p>What didn’t he understand? There were a pretty girl – a pretty <em>nurse</em> and she-</p><p><em>She’s been shot in the head</em>.</p><p>“I know that.” Tom counters, his voice lost and confusion growing on his face. Something isn’t right. She <em>isn’t </em>here- but she was not so long ago? “Tha’s not ‘er fault.”</p><p>Joe sighs, not in his “I can’t believe your, my brother” kind of way, but in his “I am going scream” sort of ways. Tom isn’t being <em>that</em> obnoxious. However, he could easily find ways of reaching those heights if he so desired.</p><p>But he does not. He feels. . . exhausted all of a sudden; the heat in him is like a furnace, but he still shivers. Something is wrong – </p><p>
  <em>I don’t like this place. </em>
</p><p>Tom’s brow furrows again, and he looks around: It’s not that bad. Sure Joe is right, and the pretty nurse isn’t here. But <em>Joe </em>is here! And that’s wonderful! - There are <em>beds</em> here! Proper beds –</p><p>“With pillows, Scho!” he hisses, finding a shadow further on, and he decides it <em>must </em>be Scho.</p><p>
  <em>Cranky wanker. </em>
</p><p>“Tom.” The word leaves Joe in a huff of air, and before Tom can turn his head, cool hands are pressing to either side of his face. “Tom.”</p><p>“J---joe.” He quips, trying to move his arm and poke his brother on the nose, but he can’t seem to get his hand to do what he wants. But it doesn’t matter because Joe is pressing his forehead to Tom’s, and he makes another one of those sad noises. Tom can feel it jolt from his brother’s shoulders, and it douses his mirth.</p><p>“Don’t you be going anywhere without me.” He says – Joe’s breath is hot; his words are heavy, and it makes something in Tom’s gut <em>churn</em>.</p><p>Go? Why would he go anywhere? Did he have anyplace else he needed to be?</p><p>Some small stirring deep in his mind tells Tom that: yes, he does. But it doesn’t quite reach him, and he can only give a tiny shake of his head.</p><p>“L—ike when ya wen off to France without me?” Tom asks, he didn’t mean it callously, and he feels loneliness stab at him as he remembers those months when Joe was gone, and it was just him back home.</p><p>Oh, how Grampa and Gramma tried being strong for Mum despite the sadness and fright etched in their weathered faces. Tom tried – he tried being the ‘man’ of the house, working and helping out how he could.<br/>
And he remembered the. . . the <em>horrible</em> looks on their faces when he came home – saying that he signed up. To do his bit because nothing he did in Lutton or Plymouth made it feel like he was making a difference and all of the other boys his age were gone already.<br/>
And Tom desperately tried to forget that awful woman at the station in Plymouth, who shoved a white feather in his pocket and called him a coward for not lying to the recruiting officers like so many of the other boys.</p><p>There was a small hint of mirth when his Uncle Johnny gave the woman what for – but it faded just as fast when he tried telling Tom not to let it bother him.</p><p>He was still at the recruiting office before day's end.</p><p>Mum cried when she thought he wasn’t around to hear. Grampa called him spoiled and foolish – to still be thinking the war was going some gaiety filled adventure, despite how much the church bells tolled and cemeteries grew.</p><p>But Gramma was the way she always was. And it almost broke his heart when she handed him a leather rucksack that once belonged to her brother when he went away to the African War. She packed it full of knitted socks, gloves. There were two jars of cherry preserve rolled up in a pair of long-johns, and a muffler stuffed with a jar of her plantain ointment for the ‘little scrapes and bruises.’</p><p>Tom thought all the knitting she was doing was for Joe, but when he asked. His dear Gramma got tears in her eyes and told him that ever since he was born: where Joe went, Tom always followed.</p><p> </p><p>Tom shakes his head- the memories are painful, and Joe is making those noises more. His big brother is holding onto Tom’s face in a way that makes moving altogether impossible.</p><p>“I-ts ok Joe. . . “ Tom hisses, blinking slowly and feeling like he needs to say something because he doesn’t like the way Joe acting. “Not getting’ rid o me, so easy.”  </p><p>And Tom means it; he tries reaching for his brother, to touch him in some manner, but his body is leaden, and it takes all of his strength to just keep his eyes open for a moment more. Joe is saying things to him, but Tom can only smile back.</p><p>“Promise...” He mumbles as he blinks, and the next wave of heat draws him away again.</p><p> </p><p>He is washed back to the waking world, and Tom feels somehow that time has passed. There is a new light in the tent; the night was finally starting to abate. He looks around, his head lolling side to side on his neck lazily. He feels more awake: there is a purpose to this state of alertness. A deep-seeded and persistent <em>need </em>that’s dragged him from the soft warmth of rest.</p><p>
  <em>Water.</em>
</p><p>Tom desperately needed water.</p><p>His eyes scan the tent and find his brother.</p><p>Joe is still at his side, the older man’s chin resting down on his chest, and he seems to have fallen asleep, but he still holds Tom’s hand in his. Tom is glad for this, mostly because he felt bad for having worried Joe so much. Gave Joe a right go of it this time; he has.  Tom tried licking his lip in that way of his, but his mouth is almost stuck closed.</p><p>Dear Lord – he’s so <em>thirsty</em>.</p><p>Tom slowly props himself up on his elbows, his whole torso shakes with the effort of it, and he huffs at the exertion. Heat is rolling off him, and the movement makes his head spin. Tom can only hold his upright position for a moment before his strength fails him, and he flops back onto the cot with a grunt.</p><p>Pain pushes itself back to the forefront of his mind – it is not sudden, stabbing pain, it tingles – trickling from his wounds and lazily making itself known.</p><p>He groans and tries lifting a hand to his forehead.</p><p>“Tom. . .”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>He opens his eyes and finds himself blinking away a blur as he looks at Joe.</p><p>A hand presses against his chest, and he hears Joe curse under his breath.</p><p>“Your burning, up aren’t you?” Joe hisses his voice, trying for that smooth and gentle flow that their mother always used on them.</p><p>Tom makes a noise in his throat, trying to speak and he isn’t exactly surprised when it comes out as a gravelly grunt. He swallows, and it hurts, and a rush of frustration moves through him.</p><p>“Wa-ter.”</p><p>The word is little more than a hiss, and Tom can’t determine if it’s from sickness or from the fatigue that’s sapped every ounce of his strength.  Mercifully, Joe understands, and moments later, he is helping Tom to sit up just slightly. Again, the moving makes Tom feel like he’s out on the Channel during a storm in a dingy.</p><p>But a cool pressure on his lip stills the spinning long enough for Joe to guide a few small splashes of water into Tom.</p><p>It ignites something wild in the younger Blake – <em>water</em>. He reaches for the canteen with speed he didn’t have moments prior, and he doesn’t care that some of the cool drink is spilled on his chin and neck. But he only manages one euphoric mouthful before Joe regains control of the canteen.</p><p>“Easy Tom.” He hears his brother coo as he holds the water out of Tom’s reach. “Small sips – won’t do you any good, getting sick.”</p><p>Tom shivers – and he nearly barks at his brother to give the canteen back, but it only comes out as a huff, and his strength rapidly falters again.</p><p>He wilts against Joe’s arm and can’t determine if that falling feeling came from the spinning in his head or if his skull really did crane back on his spine. It must have been the latter because Joe lowers him back to the pillows with another quiet curse.</p><p>“I should get the doc.” Tom hears his brother mutter, and that too prompts a frisson of energy to rise up in Tom. He reaches – instinctually – at his brother and snatches the man’s sleeve.</p><p>“Don’t.” Tom croaks. His voice is thick, gravelly, and his whole throat feels cracked and made of broken glass. He must have had quite a desperate look on his face because Joe wavers on his feet before plopping back down on. . . a chair? A box? Tom doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care all too much. “Please-stay.”</p><p>Joe wraps his hands around Toms, he shushes his brother and leans in close, until his forehead is resting against Tom’s again, his skin so much cooler than his siblings.</p><p>“Alright, Tom.” He whispers, “It’s alright.”</p><p>A moment of quiet passes between the two as Tom struggles to calm himself down  - he wanted to cry.</p><p>His pain was starting to build; there was a deep ache in him. The hurt trickling in from countless places in his being, parts he didn’t think he could hurt were starting to make themselves known. His body felt heavy and sluggish. The fire that burned under his skin was most uncomfortable.</p><p>“The Doc will want to see you, sun up or no.” Joe continues, now sitting up again. “I will only be gone a moment,” Joe says, standing with a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”</p><p>
  <em>“I will come back.” </em>
</p><p>The words do something to Tom, a fresh burst of energy strikes him like a thunderbolt as his mind finally clears: His mission isn’t over yet.</p><p>There is one thing left.</p><p>“Wait!” shouts Blake, he flies into a sitting position, his hands reaching for Joe, but the splint on his leg, the wound in his hip, and his overall condition sends him reeling back to the bed with a cry. His head spins, his fever flares up and all of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe.</p><p>Joe is back at his side, a hand on his chest.</p><p>“Easy Tom!” he hisses, but his words are cut short when Tom grabs him by the collar.</p><p>“I promised.” He started, laboring for air. “I promised . . . to go back - - - bring help.” Tom locks eyes with Joe as confusion plays over the older man’s face. “They need help.” He whimpers feeling a sob grow in his chest.</p><p>“What’s wrong Tom?” Joe asks, leaning in close the tone of his voice letting Tom know that he. . . he isn’t overly concerned. “Who needs help – Where?”</p><p>“Ecoust.” He sputters his head turning to the ceiling. “I left them…in – in Ecoust, they couldn’t. . . Mackenzie wouldn’t listen-“ Tom stops, he’s gasping, tears spill from his eyes because not a single one of the bastards in that tent understood. It takes him several attempts to make the words and Tom <em>hates</em> that he can’t go back himself – because he promised.</p><p>He takes in a great gasp of air, it's wet and he tangles his fingers in the material of Joe’s jacket, fixing his brother with a despairing look.</p><p> “<em>You need to listen, Joe</em>.”</p><p>The expression on Joe’s face shifts, the comforting smile melts away and his concern turns to steel. He seems to argue with himself a moment. As if he just now realized that Tom was a Corporal and that he had men under his care.</p><p>Joe nods then leans in close to Tom squeezing his hand and shushing his brother as the desperation is real.</p><p>“Joe please.” Tom starts again trying to keep his brother from walking away. “They need me.” </p><p>It was getting hard to think again, harder to speak, Tom’s hand scrabbles at Joe’s sleeve, not yet! He can’t sleep yet. “T-They can’t- make it.”</p><p>Joe is just staring at him, a serious but otherwise unreadable expression on his face and Tom doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a look on him before.</p><p>“I’ll take care of it, Tom – you just rest.” Joe declares squeezing Tom’s hands between his and Tom feels a great weight lift from him, because he knows – Joe’s never gone back on his word when it mattered.</p><p><br/>
Tom wilts into the pillow and nods a few times. Tears sting his eyes and he chokes down a sob, he wants to thank his brother. But he can’t seem to find his words. It's no matter because Joe knows, he pats Tom on the shoulder gently and shushes him a few more times. The older Blake runs his fingers through Tom's damp curls and assures his brother that everything is going to be alright- that Tom only needs to worry about resting up and healing.  Tom doesn't have the strength to fight his tears anymore and they fall in silent streams down his face as sleep pulls him into the abyss once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am officially back! So here is another chapter and a return to the notes on neat things I found in research! Today's edition covers the single utterance of the word: roentgenogram</p><p>A roentgenogram - a machine named after Wilhelm Röntgen that produces "Röntgen Rays"  Or as we call them today: X-Ray's<br/>((ok they called them X-rays back in the day too))</p><p>The X-ray being discovered by Wilhelm Röntgen in 1895 was already being used as diagnostic tools in War within a year of Röntgen's discovery.</p><p>During the Great War, X-ray machines were predominantly restricted to hospitals because of the machine's frailty and dependence on electricity to function, limiting their use as the war created an ever-growing number of patients. With far too few x-ray machines available or radiologists who knew how to use them. </p><p>But in 1914, a Polish physicist created the world's first mobile roentgenograms - Marie Curie (born Marie Sklodowska) - who is also the first woman to win a Nobel Prize! - designed and built a vehicle that could transport and power X-ray machines to the Front lines - over 20 of these "Little Curries" were made and put into service for France and her allies during the war. But over time other inventors created other mobile X-ray machines. Including units that could be carried by airplanes!</p><p>By 1917 portable, battery-powered, units that were small enough to be used in Clearing Stations had been invented, but they were not standardized or widely available for use. These units were mostly used in base hospitals where they could be wheeled right up to a patient's bedside.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Intermission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Lieutenant Benjamin Richards – is not panicking.</p>
<p>He does not panic – Doing so would be unbecoming to his position as a Lieutenant.</p>
<p>The man is perfectly calm as he makes a beeline from Mackenzie's tent to the literal city of round tents that lay sprawled around it. He is not the least bit rattled as he hastens his pace- moving straight for Captain Ivins quarters, the older man always made a habit of setting up closest to the Colonels billets as was possible.</p>
<p>Richards was less than cordial about the whole thing, summoning the older man with a quick bark. He woke up everyone in the tent – Colonel Mackenzie needs to see the Captains immediately! - He didn't wait to answer any questions, and no one chased after him as he turned on his heel and went straight back outside – doing things this way would cause a bit of a stir but – he's never seen</p>
<p>Mackenzie rattled before, and he says that it was bothering him would be a lie.</p>
<p>To say it was bothering him would be an understatement.</p>
<p>Finding all the Captains was a bit of a chore; some were asleep in their billets, but others were down on the line, and he had to wade through the network of trenches and working men.</p>
<p>There was a quiet din as the men of D and A Company's worked, widening the trenches, deepening them, carving a firing step into the earth. The ground was too wet to shuck into sandbags, and most of what they had were being put up around the aid stations and dugouts.</p>
<p>Richards pauses at one point, finding a sergeant as he observes the dark fields of what will soon be No Man's Land.</p>
<p>He idles up the firing step and leans gingerly on the gunny sack that's been laid over what will be an observation platform. The men are slapping shovelfuls of heavy grey earth onto the parapet, packing it down and trying to build it up.</p>
<p>He asks where the last of the Captains might be and the sergeant, Wright he thinks - The talk quietly- Wright must think Richards is there for a report: the trenches are progressing well if the Germans have sniper they aren't shooting at anyone – there is no movement from the Bosche at all.</p>
<p>Eventually, Richards gets the information he needs, and if he's counting right, all he needs to do is the cut and cover Captain Sandbache was overseeing.</p>
<p>The chalky ground was slippery from the rain, and by the time Richards reaches the cover of a well put together dugout – his legs were caked in the white stuff.</p>
<p>It's what he gets for sneaking about to share drinks with Langlade. But Richards couldn't catch a wink of sleep with his nerves, and he hadn't spoken with his old school mate in far too long and – dammit, he was nearly relaxed when that poor chap stumbled into the tent!</p>
<p>Finally, after what felt like hours, he managed to make contact with each Captain, and they started to meander towards the billets. He walked with Captain Sandbache. By the time they make it back to the Colonel's billet, Richards is sweating, huffing, and more than a little exhausted. At least the rain has finally let up.</p>
<p>He waves off Sandbache with a slight huff as the men ducks into the tent –Richards catches only a small glimpse of the inside.</p>
<p>It was much more crowded now, Mackenzie organizing each man to stand around the map, and he sees that someone has summoned Doctor Monroe, his white coat standing in stark contrast to the sea of khaki inside the tent.</p>
<p>Blake's brother.</p>
<p>Richards lets out a small curse as his second task jumps back to the forefront of his mind. He runs a hand through his damp hair and looks around – Joe was billeted with his men, and his men were billeted - Damn, he passed through there not long ago.</p>
<p>A movement to one side of him makes the man jump; he turns in time to see a balloon flying up into the air. It was hard to see in the darkness, but small flashes of silver from what light did exist gave away the oblong shape – it floats higher and higher before coming to a sudden stop as if snagged.</p>
<p>The communications wires are up – if they work, maybe the Devon's can risk a telegram or two before the Hun zeroed in on them.</p>
<p>He doubted that the boys who were trying to bring up the artillery would have any lines open, and trying to contact anyone else further off ran the risk of getting the German's attention. It would be at least another day, maybe two, before anyone could set up phone lines, but that isn't considering the fact that the entire camp had to be picked up and moved – as it was designed to accommodate a line that was meant to be moving forward and-</p>
<p>"Oh Lord. . ." Richards hisses, rubbing at his forehead as he turns in the direction Lieutenant Blake should be in.</p>
<p>It wasn't his job to fret over such things – all he had to worry about was commanding his men. And seeing as they were all snuggled into billets at the moment – whatever problems came for him when the sun rose… he would deal with then.</p>
<p>There was only one thing he could do right now about this new mess – and as much as he didn't like it, this was better than ordering men over the top.</p>
<p>Though he figured that Joseph would very much disagree.</p>
<p>Walking through the city of little tents, Richards tries thinking over what exactly he was going to tell Blake – it was something of a delicate matter, and he felt that he should be the one to tell Joe about his brothers' being here.</p>
<p>Especially given the younger Blakes state – Richards feels a pang in his chest as images of the young man flicker in his head – under the muck that covered him head to toe was a man who was nearly white as snow. With all his color spilled on the ground or staining his trousers. The lieutenant saw soiled bandages around a wound on the man's leg, and he was honestly impressed the youngster managed to cover… whatever distance to reach the encampment.</p>
<p>Then again, if the younger Blake was half as stubborn as his brother- Richards shouldn't be surprised at all.</p>
<p>He finally reaches the billet; he thinks Joe is in, and he takes one last breath of the frosty air before ducking inside; there are a collection of dark masses all over the tent – there are more men in here than space is meant to hold, but it is noticeably warmer.</p>
<p>Richards makes a hissing sound in the back of his throat while he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he searches for Joe. He tries his best not to disturb any of the men, but his presence rouses one of them as the blonde moves to stand where Joe usually sets up his cot.</p>
<p>"What's goin' on ere?" A sleep heavy voice calls and Richards sees someone's hand drift up into the air. Richards says nothing but leans over the cot and strains his eyes.</p>
<p>"Blake," he hisses, nearly sure that the man in front of him is his quarry – dark curls are poking out from under the blanket, and that is the way Joe usually tucks in for a cold night. The form beneath that blanket doesn't stir, and Richards decides to find out for sure – he lightly punches the man in what should be the stomach.</p>
<p>"Blake!" he hisses louder as the man makes a startled 'oof!' and bolts upright.</p>
<p>"What in the – Ben, you arse." Snaps Joe, not awake enough yet for sense, and Richards claps a hand over his mouth. He hushes the younger man, and Joe loses a sigh against his hand.</p>
<p>"Grab your coat, come with me," Richards says, leaning in close to Joe's ear; the man makes a face at Richards, imploring, as a growing look of concern crosses his face.</p>
<p>"What for?" he grumbles, slowly shifting to get off the cot; he shrugs on his coat and, in the same motion, plunges his feet into his boots. He is up and ready to move one swift movement, even if sleep is still slowing his head.</p>
<p>Richards says nothing, guilt stabbing at him as he sees that Joseph was sleeping quite well just then. He turns and leaves the billet, not a quietly as he entered, and a couple of the men inside are stirred by the commotion.</p>
<p>Joe follows him out with some speed, coming to walk lockstep with Richards, muttering small curses under his breath.</p>
<p>"It's bloody cold out here; what's so important, Ben?" he asks, no propriety or bush-beating here, and Richards finds himself searching for words.</p>
<p>This is not something he is a stranger to, and usually, he is telling his men much graver news than this –</p>
<p>"I do believe your brother just charged in here not long ago." He says- the words tumbling out his mouth before he really gets the chance to think over what exactly he ought to say.</p>
<p>Joseph stops so hard that one would be forgiven for thinking he walked into a wall. Richards pauses, turning to his friend with concern written all over his face.<br/>Joe is staring, a startled look on his face and mouth hanging open slightly; he wasn't prepared to hear this, and Richards watches as the man tries to figure out just what in the world the older man just said to him.</p>
<p>"Excuse me." Blake starts sounding rather lost and confused. He makes a face, head shaking slightly, "What?"</p>
<p>Richards takes a step closer to Joseph putting a hand on the man's shoulder and moving to that their foreheads are nearly touching. Ben briefly wonders if he should give the man his flask –</p>
<p>It can wait.</p>
<p>"Your younger brother? He's in the Eighth Surreys - Thomas, right?" he starts, and Joe nods; his breathing is becoming haggard, Richards has rattled him, and he's sorry for it. "He’s here.”</p>
<p>Joe latches onto Richards with both hands, and the man looks like he’s about to bolt off somewhere – or faint.</p>
<p>“Tom’s here?” he parrots, as many expressions wash over his face – a great big smile, pure joy at the idea of seeing his brother. Then his brows furrow in confusion and the smile turns, being replaced by growing trepidation as he sees Richard's own expression is taught.</p>
<p>He squeezes Richard's shoulders, and the older man see’s the tremor that runs through him.</p>
<p>“Where is he - What aren’t you telling me?”</p>
<p>Richards tries his best not to flinch at the haunted tone in Joe’s voice, and he must pull a face when he moves to start guiding his friend towards the Clearing Statin – he isn’t sure where the Lance Corporal ended up, but it wouldn’t be hard to find out. He starts to walk down the path of trodden grass that will lead them to the clearing station – a hill and a spawl of forest hide the tents from view.</p>
<p>Joe follows after him repeating his question with greater volume and desperation – he knows what direction they are headed, and Richards knows the man well to guess what’s going to happen next.</p>
<p>“He’s in a poor state, Joe.” He says, having to take a moment to work the words out his mouth. Joe stills again, eyes going wide in the darkness, and Richards reaches to ground him, but he’s a moment too slow, and his hands grasps at open air.</p>
<p>He whirls around, an order to wait stops on his tongue; he stands back watching as Joe runs full pelt to the clearing station.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 9 - REVISED</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My sincerest apologies it would seem that I managed to post the chapters for the story out of order! AND it took me several days to realize it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Schofield is beginning to wonder just what kind of sick joke the Lord is trying to play on him. He moves to run a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his, but he pauses when his fingers hit the bandages tied around there. The movement sends a shot of pain from his wound and radiates about his whole form.</p>
<p>Now it made sense – <em>No it didn’t</em> – Gale must have been the one to tend to his wounds – <em>but where would she get the bandages and why is she here to begin with?!</em></p>
<p>His racing head is stopped when he catches the sound of footfalls coming from where Gale first appeared. Terror fills him again, he grabs the nurse about the shoulders and starts leading her back – back the way he came, there must be a way to escape.</p>
<p>His options are slim, he will not risk going back to the woman and the baby. He must turn in a direction that is away from where he needs to go, but a fallen building blocks the path ahead.</p>
<p>He is, at his wits end.</p>
<p>Panic nags at him with every footfall – he is trapped, <em>they are trapped</em> – Dear Lord how is Gale <em>here</em>. How is <em>she </em>here when Blake is not? – He could cry at the insane wrongness of it all.</p>
<p>She <em><span class="u">can’t</span></em> be here- there is no explanation sufficient enough to justify her presence. What great wrong has transpired to allow this?! Unless…unless this is not Ecoust, and he was right about Gale’s fragile hold on permanence.</p>
<p>He can’t think like that – because if they are spirits and if this is the Hereafter – than the woman and the babe - <em>No</em>.</p>
<p>Schofield shakes his head – it’s a dangerous maneuver-  the world around him tilts and he feels a rise of bile in the back of his throat, his eyes lose their focus and for a moment the world shrinks into that small dark tunnel once more. It brings him to a pause, and he needs a few breaths to recollect himself.</p>
<p>If they are in the hereafter- and Blake is not, maybe they haven’t failed in their mission yet. . .</p>
<p><em>We have to make sure</em>. . .</p>
<p>Schofield sucks in a ragged gasp, he must try. . . he doesn’t know what he will find if he follows the river, but he must.</p>
<p>
  <span>Soldat, armer soldat."</span>
</p>
<p>The man flinches as ghostly and pain ridden words rise from Gale. He casts a quick glance at her, the nurses voice brings his mind to focus.</p>
<p>Soldat . . . <em>the soldiers, they see you.</em></p>
<p>He glances back, his hold leaving Gale a moment to ready his rifle, but the barrel is pointed at dark and empty space. The German hasn’t caught up with them. He can hear their voices more clearly though.</p>
<p>Three of them at least. One is in a terrible state- crying and hollering out in flagrant grief. Another was loudly, drunkenly, trying to calm his brethren and the third – the third was slowly following Gale.</p>
<p>“H-Hello?”</p>
<p>A youthful voice, heavily accented in German, drifts down the dark alley.</p>
<p>The man’s shadow is tall on the ground and it moves with painful slowness like a storm cloud pushing itself over the flat plains of Salisbury. Imposing, menacing and inescapable, because no matter how quickly Schofield pulls the nurse back, the shadow does not shrink.</p>
<p>“N-Nachzehrer. . .Spirit?” A nervous chuckle followed by a small piece of stone or brick clatters across the ground and smacks into the wall of the alley with surprising volume.</p>
<p>A long span of silence follows, then a rat, unseen in the debris is disturbed. It screeches in fright, or anger and scuttles away, making small noises as its clambers over the uneven detritus and into some new hiding place.</p>
<p>“<span>Bastard ratten</span>. . . “coughs the voice his tone dripping in anxious relief. “<span>Besser als das,was den Captain verfolgt. Nachzehrer ... Geister. Bah</span>”</p>
<p>“Baumer!”</p>
<p>An older, louder voice booms down the alley way, the shadow flinches. &amp;ldquo<span>
Es ist gefährlich! Du kleine Scheiße, geh nicht weg!</span>”</p>
<p>Schofield wheels around, facing the path ahead, there is nothing but a tangle of fallen buildings, the alley is chocked with bricks with gnarled timbers jutting out in all manner of strange angles, the piles taller than a story in some places. How did Gale get in here, was there some path he missed? Did she pass through the throngs of debris like the mists of No Man’s Land.</p>
<p>He turns his attention to the nurse – the arm in his hand maybe cold but the flesh is solid. The labored sounds which came from her were very much human. Schofield swallows a sudden lump in his throat and keeps looking for safe passage.</p>
<p>There -  a slight stain of orange that taints the blackness- Schofield narrows his eyes and yes- <em>yes</em>. A door, a door that may lead them to the street beyond – or maybe, it will serve as a place to hide. He pushes forward, the doorway is partially blocked by a beam, but he pulls himself into the small space with a quick duck and he helps Gale into the dark space.</p>
<p>There is little room in the destitute building – they are in a small storage space- with another portal leading into what was once a store of some manner. Schofield only takes a small peak at the contents of the many shelves lining the building, and the many reflections that greet him suggest an Apothecary.</p>
<p>He pays this no mind and pulls Gale to the darkest corner her can find. He pushes her into the darkness, holding the nurse close to him. She wilts into him and Schofield takes the briefest moment to worry over her complete absence of words.  She seems a little worse for wear from his... poor handling.</p>
<p>There is nothing he can do to help- Schofield can do nothing but hope she has the strength to traverse the remaining distance that separates them from the Devon’s – if they are there at all.   </p>
<p>He pulls Gale close to him and rests his head on hers, he rubs gentle circles in her back as he strains his ears for any sounds of pursuit. He doesn’t hear any footfalls; he doesn’t see any shadows moving and dear <em>Lord</em> - Gale is like a block of ice in his hold.  She is shivering and she presses her head into his chest to stop her teeth from chattering.</p>
<p>He needs to hurry, but he can’t carry her until they are well away from Ecoust.</p>
<p>“We must keep moving.” He whispers squeezing her arm as he starts to stand again – they will move, one step at a time – from this wall, to the door.  The nurse struggles to stand, her hands tangling in his webbing as Schofield starts to pull forward. They only make it a few feet before some guttural sound jumps from Gale and the woman collapses. Schofield is too slow to catch her and they are brought to a stop.</p>
<p>She is retching and coughing and the smell of sick hits Schofield when he kneels at her side.  He places a hand on her back to sooth the coughing. He feels fear stabbing at him and it is as he feared.</p>
<p>
  <em>She can’t possibly make it to the Devon’s.</em>
</p>
<p>It was not the first time he hoped Blake was wrong, but at this moment he really, really hoped that Gale had the strength to keep on, for just a little while longer.</p>
<p>He leans into her, intimately close, and he whispers into her good ear.</p>
<p>“It isn’t far now- back on your feet.”  He coos, dragging Gale back up. She makes a slight sobbing noise and clutches his arms. He see’s the pain in her face as she’s moved, and he feels the tightness in his throat again – he can’t – he can’t fall to pieces he still has a job to do.</p>
<p>“Ready?” he asks gently, starting to pull towards the door. The nurse swallows, her head shakes slightly, pauses and then she nods, looking like she’s fighting down another sob while she does so. Schofield squeezes her shoulders and pushes on.</p>
<p>When he peeks out from the door frame, he catches a glimpse of three Soldiers, their forms are small, walking away: two carrying the third between them as they move back to the colonnades – back to where they were hiding originally.</p>
<p>They are too far away for him to hear anything they might be saying and he waits, until they are gone before he turns his attention to the way he wants to go – the coming dawn as brought light to the streets – other fires in other buildings make it easy to see, but this is no blessing.</p>
<p>Schofield can see the barest hint of a lock-tower on the bridge. There is a long distance between them and their goal, most of it open and Schofield can’t waste any time ducking from shadow to shadow. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and releases a quick prayer on the exhale.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun is rising with troubling speed, Schofield scans the streets once more. He could neither see nor hear the German Soldiers that he knew were out there. He had to make his move and make it fast, already his indecisiveness could be costing him unfathomably.</p>
<p>A gentle pressure on his side draws the man’s attention from the street, to Gale. The poor nurse was wavering on her feet, her head pressing into his arm. He frowns and leans to the nurse once more.</p>
<p>“We’re almost to the bridge.”  He explains, watching to see if she is listening. After a moment her eyes find his and she struggles a moment to work her jaw before speaking.</p>
<p>“The lockhouse.” She is slurring her words more and more, he’s noticed. An ill tiding when she was speaking quite clearly before. Schofield shakes his head.</p>
<p>“We can’t risk it, we must reach the Devon’s.”  he explains but Gale shakes her head,</p>
<p>“B-Blake is…with the Devon’s.”  she says trying to put strength in her voice, but there is none. “Said h-he would, come b-ack.” And Schofield desperately wanted to believe it. But they are dangerously low on time, if there is any chance at all that Blake didn’t reach Mackenzie. . .</p>
<p>“Listen Gale, we are going,” he declares in absolution, “Once we leave this place, I need you to keep moving.” He pauses, gesturing to the tree’s that poke out from around the fallen buildings – their goal. “If anything happens. . .”</p>
<p>He turns his attention back to the nurse- and his gut jumps at the resigned, sad-terror in her eyes.  He grabs her shoulders again and presses his forehead to hers. He takes a moment to steel himself:</p>
<p>“If anything happens – You run, and you don’t look back.”</p>
<p>He gently puts his hand on either side of her face.  “I will be right behind you, so you run, as fast as you can – as far as you can. And you don’t look back.” He repeats a shiver running through him as it says this. He wished there were something else he could say – something more. . . reassuring, but there is no time for pleasantries.</p>
<p>Gale can see that she will not be changing his mind, and despite the absolute terror Schofield can see in her eyes. She nods, trying to be brave. Her gaze shifts and she inches herself forward. Schofield takes a deep steadying breath and follows behind her a few paces.</p>
<p>They are slow at first, treading into the open space like skittish deer. Schofield scans everything, every building, every shadow, and street corner. But Gale wanders not, She looks at nothing but the ground before her. She moves like a man being marched to the gallows – slowly and stiffly as if half-dead already.</p>
<p>The air is filled with so much tension it makes Schofield fear that any loud noise will bring hell upon them.</p>
<p>Nothing but the crackling of fire breaks the silence in the air and Schofield hopes that it covers the sound of his hobnails hitting the cobbles – his breathing is getting louder despite his pace being slow and even. </p>
<p>The dread is palatable and as the meters between them and the bridge starts to close Schofield thinks he hears the creaking of a door – ice crawls down his spine and he readies his rifle, but he dares not turn around. His stride widens slightly despite how stiff his back’s become. He gets closer to Gale, she makes a small motion with her head, just enough to catch sight of him from the corner of her good side.</p>
<p>If it were possible, she becomes paler, terror brings out the whites of her eyes. Schofield only dips his chin slightly, nothing has happened yet and he nods, beckoning her to move just a little faster.</p>
<p>He continues scanning the buildings as he moves, and he tilts his head, curiosity overriding his fear, just long enough to look over and confirm if death is stalking them yet.  Schofield thinks he see’s a sign, an inn and he is pretty sure there is a shadow moving in the darkness near the street – he snaps his head around, he breaks his stride, slowing as he gets ready. He draws in a deep breath, trying to stoke himself up for a fight.</p>
<p>The man settles his eyes on Gale, he thinks about the absolute injustice of her being here, the evils committed against her – the horrors beset onto the young woman and that orphaned baby. He scans the buildings around him, anger flickers up in his chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’d rather fight them here - not in my mums garden.</em>
</p>
<p>This could be Epsom, that flat could be his home, those burnt bushes could be his wife’s roses.  The woman before him could <em>be</em> his beloved.</p>
<p>He can’t be thinking like that either – but those most unpleasant images billow fresh strength and rage in his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the tension breaks, it is not with a sniper shot as Schofield would have expected, but instead it is a slurred shout.</p>
<p>“<span>Soldat, Englander,da ist noch ein Späher !</span>” </p>
<p>The call was distant, but it might as well have been in Schofields ear, he flinches and turns to the sound, expecting to feel the bullets bite at any moment.</p>
<p>“Run.” He breaths, spotting two German’s as they’re shadowy forms sprint down the road towards them.</p>
<p>“Run!” he snaps as he turns to Gale, she starts to rush, as best as she can. Faster than what Schofield thought her capable of – then again, fear of death in concert with a will to live, oft made people able to do things that ought to be improbable. </p>
<p>But Schofield can spare no thoughts for such things.</p>
<p>He runs after Gale as claps of gunfire give chase, the bullets zip by him – they strike the ground at his feet and all the while he can only hope that none reach the nurse.  His strides are longer than Gales, his lungs stronger, and his speed all together greater. He nearly eclipses her as they reach the near side the bridge. Schofield sinks his heels into the cobbles, he whirls around and his gun levels on the first of two Germans – <em>God!</em> – They are much closer than he thought.</p>
<p>These are all things that Schofield feels more than he thinks and all of it in the scant moment it takes his fingers to pull the trigger.</p>
<p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p>
<p>The Germans react to his actions in shock, they faulter – one of them is stopped completely when Schofields bullet slams into him – square in the chest. Schofield adjusts aim while rechambering his rifle. The second German is still reeling from his compatriot being hit, a distressed cry is jolted from him at the sight.</p>
<p>Schofield levels his gun, takes a quick breath and -</p>
<p><em>Click</em>.</p>
<p>There is a moments pause – the German flinches, expecting the hit, but when none comes he takes only a moment to inspect his person for any damages.</p>
<p>Schofield feels his blood run cold – he repeats his actions – rechambers – no casing comes forward it -isn’t jammed. He slams it shut, takes aim and:</p>
<p>
  <em>Click!</em>
</p>
<p>His eyes go wide and watches with growing horror as the German decides it is his turn to take a shot. Schofield bolts, turning on his heel so fast he nearly loses his footing.</p>
<p>Gale has cleared the bridge in the interim – she is nearly to the shelter of the trees.  Her grey cladded back almost disappears in the frosty mist that wafts from the river and Schofield has to squint to follow the bold splash of red from her tippet – he’s going to have to throw that thing off when he reache-</p>
<p>CRACK!</p>
<p>Something bites into Schofield’s shoulder – hitting him with enough force to send him reeling – his rifle falls from his hands and tangles in his legs. Fire engulfs Schofields left arm as he strikes his hands out to prevent him from falling face first into the wall of the bridge.</p>
<p>A pained shout erupts from his mouth. All of his air leaves him, and he feels his whole arm fill with painful tingling. He rips his head up to face the German and before he can even begin to think, instinct is dragging him up and over the wall.</p>
<p>He spares no thought to the length of his fall, nor the speed of the water – he moved with nothing but the need to <em>escape</em>, a whimper leaves him and in the last horrifying moments before his legs are ripped out from under him – he realizes: this was probably the worst idea he’s ever had.</p>
<p>One instant he is falling down, the next he is torn in another direction. Pain explodes throughout his body, his webbing is ripped up around his throat as he tumbles, blind, uncontrolled, inky blackness and blue-gray flash and roll in front of his eyes.</p>
<p>The water spits him up into the air and he gasps, hands clawing for any purchase – he hits a stone, and it feels like he’s been kicked by a horse. He cries in pain and is forced under again, his webbing is tangling in his limbs, dragging him downwards and he fumbles for the buckle.</p>
<p>The loss of the kit almost ejects him from the water, he loses his jerkin in the struggle and has he tries to keep his head above water – he see’s something in front of him, a tree – he reaches for it, the branches scratch at him, his hands tangle into the wood, but his left arm is useless- heat rushes from his shoulder and he doesn’t have the strength to hold him.</p>
<p>He is turned in the water in those last moments before he loses his grasp on the tree and he catches a terrifying glance at how tall and how steep the river banks are – he has no chance of climbing out and he keeps falling further and further down.</p>
<p>He didn’t think there were rivers like this in the northern plains of France, but it was just his luck that he would find such a place by falling into it.</p>
<p>There is a brief moment, where the river seems to calm, the speed is still great, but the rapids are less, it is enough that he can right himself to swim against the current. If he can reach the shore, maybe there is a way for him to pick his way along under his own power. But before he can catch his breath, his heart stops when he sees the river <em>end</em>.</p>
<p>A loud roar reaches his ears and he knows – he flails, moving his arms frantically, the left one nearly useless and there was nothing he could do – he feels his legs get drawn downward and he struggles not to scream as he’s made weightless, he falls and he catches once last glimpse of the sky - <em>Oh Please God- </em></p>
<p>His back hits flat against the unforgiving surface of the water below.  The stop is harsh like the shock of a shell landing besides him: the air is shot from his lungs, there is copper on his tongue and his insides scream in pain as he’s dragged under the swirling water.</p>
<p>His world is agony, cold, and darkness all swirling around in dizzying terror. His lungs burn, his ears pop and no amount of flailing brings him to the air he needs.<br/>
More than once he is slammed into the surface of solid rock. The tumbling water pushing him up, but never to the surface, and down - as if he were a sheet being laundered. Each impact threatens to burst his lungs and crack his skull. No amount of flailing helped him, if anything his limbs are nearly snapped in two as they too are slammed and twisted by the churning waters.</p>
<p>Salvation doesn’t come, his struggles become less as his strength fails. His jaw goes slack and water invades his mouth, a cough is forced from him and new pain is found as his body’s last attempt for air brings a spray of freezing water directly into his lungs. His body convulses and he tries to stop the invasion of water with a hand around his throat, but he is powerless.</p>
<p>Then, just as his strength begins to fade and his insides rage for air:  he is thrown to the surface, as if the hand of the Lord himself reached down and plucked him from the torrent.</p>
<p>
  <em>Air!</em>
</p>
<p>He feels it on his face and he vomits water. He coughs and coughs, his arms struggle to keep him in that wonderful air as his lungs gasp for it. The coughing and gasping doesn’t stop. Not until well after something hot starts to spray from his mouth and he is left wheezing, the air is cold and painful against his throat and too soon he is dragged under the water again. His heart thunders like thirty pounders in his ears, his lungs rattle as specks of invasive water are still lodged deep in his chest. But he has it – air, and its reintroduction leaves his limbs burning, tingling and without their strength.</p>
<p>His body starts to sink again, and he lacks the endurance to drag himself up again, even in desperation, he hasn’t the strength to keep himself afloat.</p>
<p>But he is not without luck, a twisted tree branch floats into his vision and he manages to snake his arm around the thing – it’s enough, and he can float with his mouth just above the surface.</p>
<p>His lungs saw in and out, the task is difficult, but he feels. . . he feels the burn in his chest lessen, the pain in his limbs fade, save for his left arm.<br/>
And with this reminder, he feels the bullet in his shoulder. Grating against the bone beneath his flesh when he tries moving his arm.</p>
<p>This is good, as he’s found a new fear of drowning and be it water or his own blood – he would rather avoid it.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Pain has invaded every fiber of his being, and it is soothed into bear-ability only by the icy cold of the river. Even nature seems to have found pity for him, as the river is smooth, birds sing with impunity and when Schofield pulls his exhausted eyes open he see’s the rocks of the shore waning, being replaced with fresh spring grasses. Tree’s with young leaves open in the gentle rays of golden sunlight.</p>
<p>The river had taken him to the wood – he must be close to the Devon’s, he needs to find his strength.</p>
<p>There may yet be a chance. But sunlight stings his eyes, as if mocking him with its warmth: the dawn has come – and try as he might, there is no wellspring of new vigor coming to aid him  turn to the forest and make for its shaded banks.</p>
<p>Something pink floats by his eyes, at first it startles him, but then another one moves lazily by, then another, and then many.</p>
<p>Petals. . . cherries. Their delicate edges withered by frost as they are blown into the river by a weak morning breeze.</p>
<p>He is coated in the petals, they fly to him, land in the water and swirl around him, sticking to his soaked body. Their gentle touches at his face and hands – each one a tiny nudge of encouragement.  Schofield grabs one in his hand and holds it before him:</p>
<p>
  <em>We have to keep moving.</em>
</p>
<p>Blake. . .</p>
<p>‘<em>You don’t understand! It’s my big brother.’</em></p>
<p>Schofield shivers and clenches his jaw – did Blake make it? Is he with his brother now, are they safe?</p>
<p>Blake is one stubborn bloke – if he could stand, if he could walk, Schofield had full confidence that the younger man would find his bother. He had a knack for finding his way into and out of strange places.</p>
<p>Schofield remembers – how Blake found his way out of the collapsing German tunnels, how he picked his way across No Man’s Land. How Blake managed to make his way across the oily ground with nary a food slipping out from under him despite it being the first time the young man had set foot in that horrid place.</p>
<p>If Blake could manage- he would have dragged himself by his fingertips to find Mackenzie and finish his mission. He is probably enjoying tea with his brother right now, chattering away with the bright smile that lights a mischievous glint in his eyes.</p>
<p>Yes – Blake is safe, he is with the Devon’s – with his brother. Some part of Schofield knows and accepts this: he doesn’t need to worry.</p>
<p>A small smile grows on Schofield and he releases the petal into the water. He wilts, his head nearly falling beneath the surface. Something still nags at him, but he is. . . he is so tired. Schofield lets his eyes slip closed – rest.</p>
<p>He just needs to rest.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just in case you were unaware I am an absolute fool and posted the chapters out of order the other day! This chapter was meant to be posted next week but I goofed, so y'all get two chapters in one week instead!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>Some part of Gale knew she was in great danger. One moment she was rushing through the forest, trying to get somewhere. To reach someone- Then there was a great rush of pain in Gale's head. A thundering that originates from the fissure that mars her skin.</p><p>Whatever it was that broke within her brought the nurse to her knee's. The whole of her left side feels strange; it is invaded with tingling and shifting as if something has slid off. The rational part of her knows - But it struggles to reach the forefront as she claws up a tree trunk and back to her feet. It is a struggle to stay up, to put one in front of the other as she tries to. . .</p><p>Where was she trying to go?</p><p>This brings her to a stop, she lets out a breath, almost panting, and she can't quite recall why she's laboring so hard. She's in a wood, an old wood with many mature trees that are just starting to bud.</p><p>The sun is out, bright but cold, and its light starts to scatter the mists and melts the small coating of frost in the grass. A river roars off in the distance, and when Gale looks, she can just make out a massive crag in the earth that separates woods from farmland.</p><p>Gentle rolling hills of green behind wooden fences, there are no animals, there are blurry, block-like forms in the distance, with smatterings of other trees further on. At least, that is what she thinks the shapes are.  She is half-blind, if not worse, and she must be careful as the ground is uneven.</p><p> </p><p>She looks at the forest beneath her feet and shivers from a slight breeze. It seems so very cold, and she can't remember, why can't she remember?</p><p>There is nothing but this nagging feeling- some voice in her head telling her to keep following the river – someone. . . someone is down there.  But she can't recall why or who. She feels urgency – and with her failing strength, she moves, following the ebb and flow of the forest floor.</p><p>The old wood is mostly clear of brush, many pine trees keep the ground clear with their needles, but she also sees black rocks that seem strange. They are angular, like steps, dark, jagged angles that are very unlike the soft grey rocks in the bluffs around her home.</p><p>Is that where she is off to? Is she following the spring down the bluff to Grandpa's secret fishing spot? Yes, that must be it – it is the only place she can ever remember going where the ground was strange and the forest so old.</p><p>She feels small again, lost and toddling over rocks that are too big for her little legs to clamber over. She is tired and hungry – there is an ache all over her body, and pain strikes up in some places, lashing at her in jolts. Like the time she grabbed the hot wire around Papa's new cow pen.</p><p>The painful strike was not so bad that it knocked her back on her keister, but the comparison was still apt.</p><p>An ache settles in Gale's chest, and she is again made to pause. She is homesick, but. . . is this not home?</p><p>Another glance around, she turns her head, and it makes the world spin so much that she crashes to the ground once more. Frustration now stabs at her, making her bare her teeth, and hot tears flood her eyes.</p><p>The pieces come back to place. This is not home – this is a forest in France. She is lost, looking for a soldier, a Tommy who fell in the river. And she is looking for him because. . . because he helped her, and she must help him.</p><p>She is a nurse, and she came to France to help people. To save lives and soothe pains because she felt like it was. . .what she had to do.</p><p>She sobs because she doesn't know where the soldier is because the images of a man weeping and in pain float into her memory. She knows the man; she is frightened of him; she fears as much as he hates: the monster he has become. Another man – a boy, younger, still soft, and innocent – he cries too with a great weight on his shoulders and fear overflowing his heart. The third the one- yes…the one she searches for, with the frightened blue eyes. A man filled with pain and fear – fear of life, of death, and fear of what this war has made of him.</p><p>She wants to take his pain too – so many boy's – so many. . . The stout English, the persevering French, the valiant Belgians, and the proud Germans. All far from home and all doing that which they want no part of.</p><p>So brave and selfish and foolish they all were, but they can't help trying to be valuable, trying to be useful – just as she was. And perhaps it was silly of Gale too, the way she always thought:</p><p>When she placed her hands on them and spoke gentle words when she washed them and dressed their wounds – that her hands would take their pain from them and they always seem to look at her – they smile so gently and all of a sudden, their burdens were less.</p><p>And maybe that is why she is in this state, why she is in this place at all.</p><p>She has taken on too much, and the burden is too heavy – she cannot carry it any longer, and she weeps.</p><p>No - she cries, a horrid sound comes from her as frustration and sorrow finally spillover, and there is only the forest as witness – so she drops the veil, no longer the impression of unshakeable courage. She curls in on herself like a child and cries harder than she has in all of her adult life.</p><p>So much has gone wrong, and she is small – she is lost, and now she doesn't know if she can stumble any further.</p><p>
  <em>"You're not going to get anywhere at all carrying on like that." </em>
</p><p>Gale gasps and snaps her head up; everything tilts and whirls, and in the silver fog that still floats in the forest, she sees her grandfather. But not the way she last knew him – he stands straight and firm, his hair still holds the brown of his youth, and his eyes are not clouded by blindness.</p><p>He is young again, strong again, and it appears how she remembered him when she was a little thing.</p><p>The man is stoned face, lips drawn into a slight frown as he stands over his granddaughter, a rod with a string and hook are leaned over his shoulder, and Gale can't tell if this is real or vision. If he is ghost or dream.</p><p>He watches her a moment, then turns, as if waiting for her to pop up on her feet and toddle after him if he walked a few strides too far away. When she does not rise to follow, he begins to walk away.</p><p>
  <em>"Come now, times wasting." </em>
</p><p>That was Grandfather, no time to be wasted on flowery words. The world will not wait, and there is work that needs doing - Gale strains to stand, her legs are weak, and ache.</p><p>"There is a place we need to be, and we are going to it. Simple as that."</p><p>His voice echoes in her ears, and his form dissipates in the thinning mist. She blinks and chuckles – so this is what it is to go mad? It wasn't nearly as dreadful as she expected it to be and she is surprised at herself when she finds that she is on her feet again.</p><p>The nurse takes in a few more deep breaths. When she looks ahead again, she can see no phantoms floating in the mist; she can hear no voices over the river's rushing near-by. But there is a stirring in her chest, and she feels certainty – she will follow her grandfather's ghost, and somehow that will take her to where she needs to be.</p><p>It is pure lunacy, but it is so simple that she cannot refute it – and she simply drifts along, stumbling as she chases the wisps of fog.</p><p>There is a waterfall, and it provides a daunting challenge. She is forced to move further from the river as the slope becomes gentler as she moves deeper into the forest. Hunger gnaws at her, and some part of her cries out desperately for water. Her head swirls, and she forgets again – where she is going and why.</p><p>She wanders, as though in a dream, one foot in front of the other aimless, thoughtless, and Gale loses all sense of self and direction. She could have walked like this for all eternity, her mind trying to churn simple feelings into thoughts as she drifts along.</p><p>Where is she going? She does not know, but the tiny voice of rationality – which sounds like Grandfather - answers each question that floats through the fog in her head.</p><p>
  <em>Patient wandered off – find him.</em>
</p><p>What patient? Why should she do that?</p><p>
  <em>It's your job. </em>
</p><p>Rest.</p><p>
  <em>Can't – finish your job.</em>
</p><p>It hurts.</p><p>
  <em>Irrelevant. </em>
</p><p>She doesn't like the little voice in her head – of all of the Guardians the Lord could send down to aid her; He chooses the most stubborn and stern one in all the Heavens! But she supposes if Grandfather is the guardian she needs- Grandfather is the guardian she gets.</p><p> </p><p>As she trudges along, the nurse begins to feel less small, less lost, and she would really rather sit down and rest. But at the same time, she can't seem to stop herself.</p><p>That is at least until her foot suddenly slips out from under her, and she finds herself slipping down a knoll on her rump. She yelps at the sudden change, and everything spins as she descends – it is not a far fall, there is no new pain, and after the twirling in her eyes stop, she finds herself sitting at the bottom of the mound, like a child who's reached the end of a slide.</p><p>She looks about her person; the grass smears look odd in contrast to the other muck that's matted her dress.  A giggle escapes her, and she shakes her head – what a miserable state she's in – she's cried, she's raged, and there is nothing left for her to do but laugh.</p><p>There is a splash in the river, something's been disturbed, and some primitive part of her is startled. As though there were any beasts still lingering in forests that are shaken by pounding guns.</p><p>"Oh…"</p><p>Her eyes fall on strange forms in the water- a tree, a windfall, lays in the river and against its drunk, many irregular shapes bob in the water. The tree's trunk makes a quay that stills the water, and it traps everything that drifts into its reaches.</p><p>A wretched smell of death wafts from the scene, and Gale recoils, covering her mouth in shock at such a horrible thing. But her shock stills when there's another splash from the water—followed by a distressed grunt as one form jolts and moves.</p><p>Dark khaki – a Tommy, her Tommy.</p><p>He makes a distressed sound, and as the nurse scrambles onto wobbling legs, she sees him loop an arm over one of the tree's branches then slump against the trunk.</p><p>She's found him. . . she's found him! A new rush of energy rises in her, hope and joy push her fatigue back, and the nurses find it in her to hurry as much as she can manage to the log where Schofield struggles. He is surrounded on all sides by the forsaken corpses of France. Men and women, soldier and civilian. Gale tries not to look at them as she wavers to the fallen tree. Her hand tangles in its upturned roots, and she pauses.</p><p>Schofield toils in the mass; he flails with one arm as the man tries and tries to pull himself from the dam of death. His nails sink into the tree's wet bark, and he manages, his arm shaking all the while and a pain sound screeching out from him to lift himself free from the fate that's taken the dozens before now. Gale, in turn, tries her best to clamber onto the log to reach him, and she manages to straddle the trunk as if it were a horse, and it is all she can do. Her failing body is capable of little else, and she leans forward, extending her good hand as far as she can.</p><p>"Scho- "she barks, her words are strained in her ear, and she knows there is still a reasonable distance separating them. But she is here, and this is all she can do – the rest is up to Schofield.</p><p>The man rips his head from the log and sees her; his face is ghostly, lips tainted purple with cold, and he stares, stricken as the nurse appears before her like an apparition. His expression shifts, he does not question her presence any longer, and he finds the strength to lift his arm, to reach for her with a hand that shakes terribly. His expression grows taught, and he – he cannot reach from where he is, and the man lets his hand drop with a pained cry.</p><p>He wilts against the tree, lungs crackling as he takes in deep laborious breaths. There is a long pause, and Gale feels fear lash at her again – they are so close, but neither can reach.  She grits her teeth, her head pulses painfully in warning, and with a pained grunt, she tries to crawl.</p><p>Her left arm is numb, and she falls, chin scraping the bark as she does. She's moved only a few inches and stares at her goal. Releasing a huff, she reaches again.</p><p>It must be a pitiful sight, the two of them, scrambling for one another in desperation as if a great flood were rushing down the gorge to sweep them away. But the morning is peaceful,  and the world is ignorant of their struggles.</p><p>Schofield see's Gale push on, and he tries again, making a new attempt to claw his way from the water. His injured arm scrabbles at the bark, and he digs in with his nails, anchoring him to his place, and he can go no further; if he loses his hold again, he will not have the strength to pull himself from the foul water.</p><p>There is a pause as Schofield looks at her, and she at him. She tries to find it in her to move just a bit further on, but she cannot hold herself up and reach for him at the same time. Her lame arm will not allow it. So, Schofield moves, detaching himself from the branch that was his salvation to dig his nails into the tree. He pushes forward with one last bought of strength, moving himself an arm's length closer - he strikes his arm out for Gale, and for once, her hand finds its goal at the first attempt. Her fingers snatch Schofield's wrist, her nails digging under the strap of his wristwatch, and she groans when his weight is put on her arm.</p><p>She cannot pull him, but she can be his anchor. Her head hits the bark again, and Gale can do nothing but hang on as Schofield tries to pull himself free from the river.</p><p>He pulls again, almost enough to yank her into the waters, but then a hand is tangling in her tippet; there is a weight on her shoulder and a series of splashes. Then Schofield is hauling himself free from the water, his body laying over the trunk as he gasps for air.</p><p>He is in front of her, one arm draped over hers, and for a long moment, he does nothing but lay there and breathe.</p><p>She can feel his presence next to hers, and she is glad – her body moves of its own accord, she scoots herself backward off the tree, the process slowed by her lousy side and loss of strength.</p><p>Schofield, who seems in a similar state of delirium, crawls after her. She noticed that he refuses to put weight on one hand and scuttles up the log on his forearms. But she can't pay it any mind as she turns to put her feet on the ground and stand.</p><p>She stumbles from the log, and Schofield follows soon after.  The pair reach for one another, neither having the strength to stand alone, but when braced up against each other, they manage. Schofield ducks down, resting his forehead on hers, and he looks into her eyes with an unreadable expression.</p><p>"Thank you…" he hisses, voice faint as he traces a small line down the side of her face as if to push hair behind her ear, but she has none. Gale nods slowly; no words come forward in response, so she simply stares.</p><p>Strain starts to show in Schofield's expression, his muscles grow taught as he struggles to stand, and Gale manages to help him away from the tree. They make it only a few feet from the river's bank before the man collapses onto his knees.</p><p>"A moment." He sputters as he curls in on himself, cradling his bad hand against his belly. "I need a moment."</p><p>Gale lowers herself to the ground, and she knows it's a mistake – she will not be able to rise again, so she settles comfortably on the thin grass. The birds above are singing merrily; the river babbles on despite the desolation that is trapped in its rapids. The sunlight is warm on her back, and Gale looks at Schofield with a small sense of peace.</p><p>She smiles, and a beleaguered sigh escapes her.</p><p>"You are, without doubt,…my most difficult patient." She murmurs, and the words are horribly slurred together.  Schofield makes a small noise next to her, but she can't seem to lift her eyes to see what he's doing.  She is utterly spent; her last ounces of strength is gone, and she doubts they will rebuild again.</p><p>The nurse releases another sigh; then there is – a twinge from the wound in her head. She feels it and is given a moment of contemplation to figure what it might mean before pain explodes throughout her skull once again.</p><p>She gasps at it, her whole body flinching in response to this new onslaught, and she loses all control of herself as the world spins into horrid swirls, and she collapses in a heap.</p><p>Beside her, Schofield is left to watch in horror- as the nurse falls into a spell of tremors on the ground. He tries his best to be of help, grabbing the woman by the shoulders and pinning her to the ground so that she could not toss about too violently.</p><p>There is nothing he can do, nothing at all but watch in dismay as the convulsions lessen to an ever-present quaking in the woman's frame.</p><p>He has seen things like this happen to men injured by shellings, men who are hit about the skull and spine. He knows enough to realize that her best chance is to be brought to a doctor.</p><p>He is filled with new determination; the Devon's are not far. So, the man pushes his arms under the woman's legs and about her shoulders.  He speaks words of encouragement to her, not knowing if the nurse could hear him or no. And he tries to stand.</p><p>His arm screams in pain, the tingling worsens, and he may as well have stuck the limb into a hive of angry bees. He chokes back the pain and stumbles a couple of feet up the bank. Before his strength fails him and he collapses onto his knees.</p><p>"Come on." He hisses, gritting his teeth and looking at Gale; the woman's eyes are darting from place to place, unseeing but searching. "Stand up!" he commands himself, trying to build strength. "Up -UP!"</p><p>He screams as he forces himself to his feet once more. His eyes set on the top of the rise; if he can get there – he can find the Devon's. If he can find the Devon's, he can get her help. But he only makes it a few more small strides. His arm almost gives out, and he crumples with a sob as it all becomes too much.</p><p>Schofield cradles Gale in his arms as he doubles over and loses himself to his sorrow. He cries; it's a brief thing, but ugly. He is filled with ragged sobs and big ugly tears that run in hot streams down his face. He cries for Gale, for Blake. He weeps for the woman and baby – he cries for the corpses in the river, and he cries for himself as it all seems so hopeless.</p><p>When he feels just the slightest bit lighter, Schofield looks around; there is a tree, it is close and facing the river – the sun lights its trunk, and he can see the green fields beyond the river. He manages once more to find his feet, and he is grateful that the distance is not far because he hardly reaches this small goal before his legs give out again. He slides down the bark sits, thinking that this was a much nicer place to rest. The sun is warm on his face, and it may help to warm him and Gale.</p><p>The nurse has stilled in his arms, her body still quivers and shakes, but less so – and her eyes have slipped closed.</p><p>"Gale." He calls, shaking her just slightly and – Thank Heavens, one eye slowly peels open, and she blinks. The woman draws a breath, it's slow, and she seems more like someone who has been pulled from sleep.</p><p>Schofield waits a moment more – her hazel eye slides over and focuses on him. A troubled look morphs on her face and Schofield sees that her expression is now. . . lopsided. He tries to smile for the nurse, and he cradles her ever so closer to his chest. She is such a slight thing –</p><p>Gale is struggling for words or making sense of what's around her, she doesn't seem to recognize him, and it's a bad a sign as any.  He doesn't know anything about treating head cases, so he simply shushes the woman and smooths a line on her forehead with his finger.</p><p>"Talk to me." He whispers, and Gale's expression grows more troubled before something flickers in her gaze, and she relaxes marginally.</p><p>"M-my wayfaring patient. . ."</p><p>Her words are so horribly jumbled, as though she was speaking through a mouthful of marbles, but Schofield smiles wider and nods. A one-sided grin flickers over Gale's face, but it doesn't last, and she wilts against his chest, her head resting just over his right breast as he can't trust his left arm to support more than the weight of her legs.</p><p>She shivers in his hold, and if Schofield thinks he is cold, Gale must be on the verge of icing over. He uses his good hand to rub her arm. Before he starts to gently maneuver the nurse so that she is laying entirely against him, no part of her touches the ground, and it is far from comfortable for Schofield. Still, he will do all in his meager power to comfort the woman for. . . for what happens next.</p><p>"You said Blake went on ahead." He asks, after several minutes of searching for something to say. This prompts Gale's reaction; she nods, her expression becoming almost pained as she forces words forward once more.</p><p>"Y-Yes." She starts weakly, trying to move. "Sss-said he w-would, c-come back."</p><p>She lifts her hand – it's trembling terribly, and Schofield can't figure what she could want, so he tangles his fingers with hers. "H-He said he w-would." She reiterates, looking at their joined hands with some look of forlorn hope.</p><p>Schofield didn't think that Blake would have such an effect on the woman, but there was a large gap in his memory where the two must-have interacted. Then again, Blake has that kind of air about him. Like the first smell of grass after a harsh winter – that bloody fool managed to dredge hope and joviality out of the worst circumstances even if its only source was his own naivety.</p><p>The man shook his head and looked out over the river; he stares at the blossoming cherries across the way. Something goes taught in his chest, and tears sting his eyes.</p><p>"A-and I'm sure he will." He says finally, slowly looking down at Gale again; he tries to smile – but he knows it faulters. "We simply have to wait."</p><p>The nurse nods slowly – she seems content with this, and she starts to settle, her shivering gradually comes to an end, and when it does, the nurse looks so absolutely exhausted – and Schofield is sure that every last ounce of strength has been sapped from her. He allows them to sit in silence for a while, with nothing but the noise of the rivers babbling and birdsong filling the space. </p><p>Schofield lets his eyes drift closed, and he strains his ears – it is well after dawn, he cannot hear the thunder of artillery, nor the quakes that surge though the ground from shellings. There is no constant chatter from machine guns, and he feels the fragile hope that sprouted in his chest earlier grow ever so slightly stronger.</p><p>His hand wanders to the pocket over his heart, and relief floods him when he feels the cool tin meet his fingers.  The Lord has found a good supply of kindness for him this morning, and as he pulls the tin free, he looks to the heavens in gratitude. Schofield pops his tin open and finds the pictures within dry and unmarred. He gently lays the container on the ground beside him, and he takes in the sight of his family.</p><p>His wife's words echo in the back of his mind, and he shivers –</p><p>"I won't." he hisses, pressing his lips to the top corner of his wife's photo. "I won't break it – I swear."</p><p>His mumbling stirs Gale slightly, the woman shifts, and Schofield pulls himself back to the present.</p><p>"These are my girls." He announces, offering Gale a chance to look, but for a moment, she only stares at the button on his breast pocket. "Gale?" his voice is more urgent. He shakes her lightly, fearing the worst.</p><p>For a long time, the only reaction he gets is a quick move of her eye – darting from his button to the object in his hand. She incrementally shifts her head to get a better look: the photo seems to enrapt the nurse, and she stares at it a long time.</p><p>"T-they're lovely."</p><p>It seems to take a great deal of effort for her to say something so short and straightforward, and if it were possible, she seems to sink into him even more. "Y-you're a l-l-lucky man."</p><p>Schofield nods slowly and rests his chin on her wrapped head.</p><p>"Do you have any… lucky men, Back home?" he asks, struggling to keep his eyes open as the sun rises enough to reflect on the water- leaving him with a view of bright dazzle that makes his head pulse painfully.</p><p>Gale seems to scoff and shakes her head slightly.</p><p>"N-not an-y… Q-Queens Alexa-andra's c-couldn't be m-m-married…when I j-j-joined."</p><p>Schofield finds that an odd thing to say – but he can't say one way or the other. He hums and lets his eyes drift closed. The bark at his back is harsh against every bump and bruise in his skin. His legs are starting to tingle from the added weight on him.</p><p>His hand is throbbing almost as much as his head, and as he sits there, slowly warming in the sun. Schofield becomes aware of a growing fever under his skin. Shakily he raises his hand. The bandages are completely soiled, and as he looks at his wrist, he finds that there is nothing foul looking peeking out from under the gauze.</p><p>He moves his hands, unwrapping the bandages and leaving the filthy things on the ground. His gut jumps at the sight that meets him. The wound is filled with puss; the fringes of his injury are dark, not gangrenous but far from healthy. A foul odor rises from the wet flesh, and he shakes his head.</p><p>His distress seems to summon Gale back to wakefulness, and she moves her head, an inquisitive sound rising in her.</p><p>"Nothing to worry about," Schofield says, turning his hand over to hide the ugly thing.  But he is not so skilled to hide the injury from a QAIMNS, half-dead or no – she sighs.</p><p>"Sm-mells." She hisses, her breath hitting Schofield's neck as she is trying to glare up at him. "t-turn it to the s-sun, t-to stop, g-gas gang…"</p><p>She goes quiet so suddenly that Schofield forgets his pain a moment. But she is still breathing and makes a noise in her throat. "T-the s-sun will…c-clean."</p><p>The man simply sighs; he will go grey before noon if this keeps up, but he nods and slowly turns his hand over; the ugly white puss and the sore swollen skin almost glistens in the morning light. He doesn't know what merit the nurse's advice may hold, like every other cut and wound he's ever gotten was fervently covered at all times after being cleaned with a wash of iodine.  But there isn't much else that either of them can do, and it is a simple goal to accomplish.</p><p>He can think of nothing else to say to the nurse, he can hardly believe, and he lets his eyes close. He does his best to relax. His chin resting on Gale's head and one arm draped over her hip, letting his hand soak in the sunlight.  He takes in a deep breath; a gentle breeze carries the smell of cherry trees to him, and the man lets himself drift to rest. </p><p>Sleep takes him with troubling speed and without permission – it is not good rest; his mind is plagued with memories of drowning in water made of liquid fire and held beneath the surface by the pale and swollen hands of the dead.</p><p>They stare at him with shocked and fearing faces, eyes glazed in blue and mouths left agape with engorged tongues. They are ravenous, jealous – they claw at him and drag him down, to make him like them, and he does not have the strength- he can't breathe, his heartbeats hard and slow in his chest as life itself is drained from him.</p><p>Darkness starts to surround him, and the dead snag his shirt, dragging him further down, and he- he is not one of these things! He can't go with them, and he is sorry when he starts to kick and claw that their forms. He screams, a rush fills his ears, and Schofield feels new pain as something digs sharp talons into his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>The jolt is painful, and he is all but thrown against the tree in shock as his eyes snap open again, and he instinctively curls around – the weight on his lap is gone. But before he can even take a breath, he is startled to a stop.</p><p>There are hands-on his shoulders, khaki in front of his eyes – a chest, decorated with extra equipment, and a voice shushes him.</p><p>"Easy Corp!"</p><p>Schofield's breath hitches again; the voice is. . . familiar, and he blinks. Slowly raising his head and- Dear Lord, the man looks just like him -The same bright eyes, the same dark curls. A little older – features a little sharper, and there are a few more shadows on the man's face. </p><p> </p><p>"Lieutenant Blake. . ."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>